FIC: The Kids Weren't Alright (4/4)

[lettered]

Title: The Kids Weren’t Alright
Rating: PG
Length: this chapter: 14,000; total: ~55,500
Characters: Bruce Banner, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Pepper Potts, Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, and Jane Foster. This is gen, but focuses on the relationships between Bruce/Tony, Bruce/Steve, Bruce/Natasha, with some Tony/Pepper, Tony/Steve, Natasha/Clint
Warning: deals with past child abuse (parts 2-4); offensive (including homophobic) language; really nonsensical use of science concepts, equipment, and terminology
Summary: Tony accidentally turns himself into a twelve-year-old using alien tech. Steve is stuck as bodyguard, Bruce is stuck trying to fix him, and Pepper is stuck trying to ward off a twelve-year old’s attempts at flirtation. And then things go from bad to worse.
A/N: Thanks as always to my_daroga, for listening.

This is the fourth story of the series Responsible Science. You don’t have to have read any of the previous stories to get this one.

Go to: part 1 and part 2 and part 3


part 4

“Well, that was awkward,” said one of the men. He had a goatee and his eyes—

Tony.

“Let’s all just agree that what happened in our childhoods stays in Vegas. Or something. Hey, you wanna—Bruce,” he said, at the same time as the big blond man said, “Doctor Banner,” and the tall woman said, “Oh, Tony. Look.”

Bruce started backing up.

Tony took a step forward, then stopped. He was just staring. “My God.”

“What went wrong?” The blond guy said—Steve—Captain America—obviously.

“Why didn’t I grow up?” Bruce said, backing up some more. He sort of tripped on his hems, and Steve—Captain America—came toward him. “Why didn’t I,” Bruce began, then bit his lip.

Oh God. He was going to cry. He hated crying, and he wasn’t going to do it in front of them, not when they were all grown-up and beautiful and perfect, and he wouldn’t have done it before either, but now it was worse; it was so, so much worse—

“Bruce,” said Tony, taking another step toward him.

Captain America was coming toward him too; he was closer.

“Get away from me,” Bruce said, jerking away from Captain America. “Why didn’t I grow up; why am I—”

“It’s okay,” said Captain America.

“We’ll figure it out,” said Tony.

They were both moving closer; Bruce backed up until the back of his legs hit a stool. He moved around it and pushed it at them, hard. “It’s not okay; you already fucking figured it out,” he said, and there was another stool, so he picked it up and threw it.

“Whoa.” Steve caught the stool easily, just like it was a ball or something, and then he was coming toward Bruce and his hand was on his shoulder, and he was really fucking huge so Bruce swung around and hit him in the jaw, and Steve was grabbing him, and it was just like all those times—those times when Bruce knew he was going to get punished and he didn’t care he didn’t care he didn’t—he fought back, just waiting for it to start—

“Steve,” said Tony.

Steve was saying something, but Bruce couldn’t really hear him because he was going to get away get away get away, Bruce was going to hurt him and get—

“Steve, get the fuck away from him,” Tony said, his voice very low and yet perfectly audible. “Right the fuck now,” and Steve let him go instantly. “By me,” said Tony. “Right now.”

There was a computer monitor on the bench so Bruce picked it up and threw it on the floor, and then there was other stuff so Bruce threw that too, struggling to get around the bench.

“Get over by the Flux Accelerator,” said Tony, in that same low voice. “Don’t let him touch it.”

Tony—adult Tony—sounded angry, lethally angry—of course he was, because Bruce was crazy and out of control and tearing things apart and he didn’t care, he hated Tony, hated him, and Bruce didn’t care if Tony hit him, so he threw another stool, and Tony caught that just like Steve but not nearly as easily, so Bruce smashed another monitor, and then this whole big thing that was like a bunch of glass and plastic, and then Bruce was bleeding.

He knew he needed to get away, get out, but he just couldn’t; he was getting blood on stuff like tablets and keyboards and things and smashing them on the floor; and he knew that he was crying and they were just watching him; they were just watching—

“Bruce.” Then Natasha was there in front of him, not touching. “You don’t want them to see.”

He made some sort of sound, this horrible sound, and pushed something at her; he didn’t know what but he wanted it to hurt her, except he didn’t want to hurt her, and she stepped neatly aside.

“—somewhere else,” Natasha was saying. “Just you and me, lapushka. You don’t want them to see. Come on.”

Then her hand was gently but firmly gripping Bruce’s arm, and he let her. She pulled him away and he let her. There was no one in his line of sight, which was nice because he hated it when people watched, the way they looked angry and scared and helpless, like he was wild, like he was some sort of freak, but Bruce couldn’t resist glancing over his shoulder.

All three of them were by the Flux Accelerator, Tony with his arm around Pepper.

“Come on,” said Natasha. “Just you and me.”

He went with her out the doors and down a hall. She wasn’t pulling him at all, but she wasn’t letting go of him either, and right about when he started thinking he was going to push her down, she let go of him. “Come with me,” she said, and her voice didn’t sound scared or worried or upset or anything at all, nothing at all like they usually sounded when—“Don’t let them see,” she said, so Bruce went with her down the hall.

They turned some corners. Then she opened a door and went inside, but Bruce stayed out in the hall because sometimes—

“Come in here,” said Natasha. “I’ll stay with you,” so Bruce went in.

It was just a room. Like a living room with a big screen and a couch and a table and some shelves, with a light hanging from the ceiling, just a normal room. It was so normal and stupid, and Bruce hated the way he’d acted; he’d broken so many things and—and Tony—fucking Tony was going to be so mad, so disgusted disappointed infuriated with him, because Tony used to think he was cool, but now he knew the truth, and you would have thought Bruce would learn his fucking lesson, but he’d hit Captain America again—lots—

“It’s okay,” said Natasha. “You can do anything you want. They can’t see us in here. We’re safe.”

Bruce took a deep breath and hated it, because it sounded like a sob. God damn it fuck, he didn’t want to cry.

“I don’t care,” said Natasha. “You can do anything you please.” Then she was touching him, and Bruce struggled a little—but only a little, and she just pulled him harder, and wrapped her arms around him. “You can do anything you want,” she said again. “They can’t hurt you. They won’t touch you. I won’t let them. Lapushka, I will never let anyone hurt you. I swear this to you.”

Bruce stood there shuddering, her arms around him. He wanted to push her away, because he didn’t need someone to hug him, God damn it; he didn’t need anyone to tell him it was going to be okay, but he didn’t want her to leave. So he just stood there and let her do it until he started hiccoughing, and his hand started to hurt where he cut it, and he still somehow couldn’t move away.

Then he started to notice how she was really soft, and he was sort of squished up against her boobs—like, he could feel them, and her cheek was against his face. She wasn’t all that tall—only like three inches taller than him or something, and if he moved he could have put his arms around her waist. It made him desperately uncomfortable, and he really wanted to get away now, except he didn’t want to push her or anything; in fact, he didn’t even want to touch her now that he’d noticed the way—

Her hand moved through his hair, and then she let him go. “I’m gonna go get you some clothes,” she said. “I’ll be back in five minutes. No one’s going to come. It’s just you and me.”

Bruce nodded.

Once she was gone, he looked down at his hand. There was blood everywhere, all over his sleeve, up his arm. He’d probably got blood on Natasha—on her pretty clothes and nice skin, the way he sometimes got it on Mom, and—Bruce looked around to see if he could wash it.

It was like an apartment, and there was a living room and a bedroom and a kitchen, so Bruce washed his hand off in the sink and got a lot of blood on one of the towels. He put it under the sink, because he knew blood stained.

He hated the way his head felt, whenever he cried. It always felt so thick and stuffy, his mouth all full of mucous, and he bet they were talking about him. He was sure they were talking about him. Tony was probably really mad. And Natasha was just . . .

He didn’t really know why Natasha was being nice to him. Damage control, he guessed, but she hadn’t been angry or afraid. Mom was usually angry and afraid. He didn’t know what he should do. Maybe he should just get out of here. Run away.

The Flux Accelerator obviously didn’t work on him, and it wasn’t like they would want him here, now, and—he didn’t know. Maybe they would keep him around and—he didn’t know; maybe they’d do experiments on him.

“It’s just me,” said Natasha, when she opened the door. She set down the bag of clothes on the couch. “Come on, let me look at your hand.”

He held it out kind of reluctantly, and she took it very gently, turning it to see the other cuts. They were scratches mostly, except for the big one. Bruce still didn’t really remember what he’d broken—something with beakers or something, glass tubes. Science equipment. Dad really would have killed him.

“Let’s go to the kitchen,” she said, dropping his hand and grabbing a purse from the Macy’s bag. “Better light and a sink. Can you get up on the counter?” she asked, when they were in the kitchen.

Bruce nodded and tried to get up on the counter, but then he noticed he was getting blood all over it and tried to wipe it.

“Doesn’t matter,” said Natasha. “I’m good at getting blood out of things, and you can change your clothes,” so Bruce got up on the counter. She looked around, then found another towel on the other side of the kitchen. Coming back over, she said, “You don’t need to hide anything. It’s just me.” She wiped his hand, then pulled it under the faucet and rinsed it. “No one’s coming in here but me.” She wiped Bruce’s hand with the towel again, then held it against the pad of his thumb, where the big cut was. “You’re going to need stitches.”

He pulled his hand away. “No, I don’t.”

She just looked at him, lips pursing together a bit. Her mouth was sort of like a strawberry, he decided. He thought it was really pretty.

“It’s fine,” said Bruce.

“I can do them,” she said. “It won’t hurt. We don’t have to go anywhere. We can hang out here as long as you want.”

“Oh,” said Bruce, holding his hand. “Okay.”

She put the purse on the counter beside him and opened it, taking out gauze and anti-bacterial cream and some other things. “Can you put some pressure on that?” she said. “You want it to stop bleeding.”

“Okay,” said Bruce.

She got out a needle and threaded it, then set it on the counter with the other things. “Let me see it again.”

Bruce showed her his hand, and she started rubbing the cut down with gauze and alcohol. “You don’t remember,” she said, “but you did this once for me.”

“What?” he asked, startled.

She was looking down at his hand. He was higher up than her on the counter, so he mostly could only see her hair, soft and sort of curly, hiding her face. “We were in Honduras,” she said. “I got cut. You thought I was in trouble, so you came in and saved me.”

“I saved you?”

“Yes,” she said, and picked up the needle.

He thought about that. “But were you in trouble?” he asked, figuring out why what she had said sounded weird.

“I’m always in trouble,” she said, and poked the needle through. “That okay?”

“Yeah,” said Bruce. “How come you’re always in trouble?”

“Just born that way, I guess. You ever had stitches before?”

“Lots of times,” said Bruce, because he wasn’t afraid; it didn’t hurt, and then he realized that she’d tricked him again. “I mean—”

“That’s okay,” said Natasha, and he relaxed. “That’s good. Just means you’ve got experience. You’re doing great.” She poked the needle in again.

“Did I—” Bruce hesitated. “Did I turn into that—that thing? When I saved you, I mean.”

“The Hulk? You did,” she said. “You kicked a whole lot of ass.”

“So I . . . hurt people,” Bruce said.

“Only bad people,” said Natasha. “And you saved me. Not just because you hulked. You sewed me up after.”

“I did?” Bruce sat up a little straighter.

“Yup.” She pushed the needle in again, then tied off another stitch. “You wore those glasses, like you do, and you stitched me up, and you were very . . . kind.”

“Oh,” said Bruce.

“Gentle,” said Natasha, tying off the thread and snipping it. “A little bit acerbic, but very gentle.” She threaded the needle again. “I think that you were worried about me.”

“Worried?”

“Yes. Last one.” She poked him with the needle again. “I never really thanked you,” she said. “Or apologized.”

“Apologized?”

Not answering his question, she tied off the stitch. “You want to see my scar?” she asked

“Um,” said Bruce. “Okay.”

She snipped the thread on his hand with the scissors. Then, turning away from him, she tugged her shirt, drawing it down off her shoulder. Lifting her hair, she said, “It’s that lump.” Bruce leaned closer, and she said, “It’s okay. You can touch it.”

Bruce touched it with his uninjured hand. It was just a scar, a bit of stiff, jagged tissue on otherwise creamy skin.

“You sewed that up,” said Natasha. “In another three years, it probably won’t even feel rough.”

He didn’t mind that it was rough, but he stopped touching it as soon as he realized he was also touching the strap of her bra.

She pulled her shirt back up her shoulder. “I’m going to wrap your hand,” she said. “We’ll keep it that way just for a little while, and then we’ll take it off.”

“Okay,” said Bruce, and stuck out his hand again.

First she cleaned it again, then she put on antibiotic cream. Her fingers were gentle, just as she’d said he’d been, and then she got out the gauze. “Your blood is usually radioactive, you know.” Bruce tried to pull away his hand, but she held it fast. She was pretty strong, actually. “It’s okay,” she said. “It didn’t hurt me. Stark and Foster are working on getting you back to what you need to be.”

“Do they know why I didn’t . . . ?”

“They think it’s your molecules. Something like that. Because of the Hulk. You’ll have to ask them; I’m no good with stuff like that.”

“Does . . .” Bruce swallowed. “Do they all remember?”

“They remember. They’ll fix it. There you go.”

Bruce glared down at his hand, which she’d finished bandaging, and finally stopped touching.

“Come on,” Natasha said. “Want to change?”

Bruce wanted to ask her why they were working on it. They could just leave him like this; he’d destroyed Tony’s lab or whatever, so he didn’t see why they’d want to help him. They should probably just lock him away.

Hopping off the counter, he followed Natasha into the other room, where she was picking up the Macy’s bag. “Here,” she said. “You want me to get you something to eat?”

“No,” said Bruce. He always felt a little sick to his stomach when he’d been crying.

“What about a milkshake?”

Bruce frowned. “What’s your thing with ice cream?”

Natasha smiled. “You don’t like ice cream?”

Bruce shrugged.

“It’s good for you.”

Scowling, Bruce said, “Ice cream isn’t good for you.”

“Did you wanna sit around and eat broccoli all day?” Natasha smiled again. “I thought not.”

“Did you have a lot of ice cream when you were a kid?”

“I suppose,” said Natasha, “but never to enjoy it.”

“Then why?”

“It was to lure people into the belief that I was the kind of kid who had a lot of ice cream,” said Natasha. “And then we betrayed them, stole from them, and sometimes killed them.”

Bruce scowled again. “That’s not funny.”

“I’m not joking.” Natasha’s face was simply blank, her jaw held kind of firmly but not tightly, her brows just mostly straight.

“But,” said Bruce.

“I’ll go get you that milkshake,” Natasha said, and then she left.

*

When she got back, he had changed, and she had changed also. He guessed he’d gotten blood on her shirt after all. She gave him the milkshake, sat down, and started talking.

“My father’s name was Drakoff,” she said. “You haven’t heard of him, but if you lived in present times and were in the Russian mob, he would be the story you would tell your children to give them nightmares. He was a bad, evil man, and I loved him mindlessly. Drink your milkshake.”

Bruce drank his milkshake. It was chocolate and it was huge, and he really liked it. There was a straw. He couldn’t believe that Natasha was telling him this, and he wasn’t sure he believed her. She said everything in such a matter-of-fact way.

“He was the head that moved the Hand, as they say,” she said. “They were just a two-bit organization of thugs before he got involved, but he had plans—big plans. Different plans than just stealing and robbing and killing, than nuclear weapons trade or ruling the country. He was going to change the world. And he was going to do it with me. How is your hand?”

“Fine.” Bruce drank more of his milkshake. “What was he going to do to you?”

“He did it. Brain-washing. Mind-control. The Cold War was an arms race, and I was the raise on the latest weapon. He just never got to use me the way he planned.”

Bruce pulled his mouth off his straw. “Is that what you meant by mindless?”

“No.” She shook her head. “I loved him before that. As a little girl, I worshipped him. I believed in everything he stood for. He brainwashed me in a different way before he—even after, I knew what he was. I knew what he’d done to me, and I believed in it. I volunteered for it.”

“How come it didn’t work?” said Bruce, then sucked on his straw.

“Because I killed him.”

“You . . .” Bruce looked down at his milkshake. Suddenly he felt a little sick.

“Yes,” was all she said, and he looked up then. She wasn’t looking at him, her head slanted to the side, hair covering the angle of her face.

“But,” Bruce said.

“Stark and Foster want to see you,” she said. “When you’re ready.”

Bruce didn’t know what to say, so he said, “How come?”

“They want to do some tests,” she said. “Figure out why the Flux Accelerator didn’t work on you.”

“I meant,” said Bruce.

She still didn’t look at him. “I was trying to do the right thing.”

“But . . .” Bruce didn’t think she wanted to answer him, but he couldn’t help asking the questions. “I thought you were mind controlled.”

“I was. Despite what they call it in English, brainwashing is never clean.”

“How did you . . .” He wasn’t sure how to ask.

“Clint saved me,” she said.

“Why?” asked Bruce.

“Because he’s Clint.” She stood up. “Did you want to go now?”

Bruce didn’t really want to. He wanted to stay here and talk to her some more; he wanted her to feel better and he wanted her not to be sad. He didn’t know how to say any of that, though. “You can have the rest of my milkshake,” he said instead.

“Thanks,” she said, taking it.

Then they went to go find Tony.

*

Foster and Tony were in the lab on the fifty-fourth floor, not the one he had destroyed. No one else was around, and Foster was looking at the holodesk again. Tony, eating something out of a stiff plastic bag, was looking at some clear panel screens. He barely glanced over when they came in. “Oh, hey,” he said. “Bruce, you wanna come look at this with me?”

Feeling his face heat up, Bruce glanced up at Natasha. She just shrugged, so Bruce went over to Tony. Tony was acting like nothing had happened, but sometimes Dad acted like that too, and Bruce didn’t know what to do. He was ashamed of the way he’d behaved, but he wouldn’t—he couldn’t—say he was sorry. That would be like admitting that he’d done it, and that was just way too humiliating.

“Dried pea?” said Tony. Although he was still looking up at the panels, he shook the bag in Bruce’s direction. “Watch out, they’re wasabi.”

Bruce didn’t know what wasabi was, but he knew he didn’t like peas. Maybe he was supposed to take them, though. Bruce tried to think of Tony as he had been—around his height with floppy hair, the way he’d been a know-it-all and friendly and sort of weirdly high-strung, how easily his face had changed color. The way that Tony had put his head on his leg.

This guy kind of had the same mouth and eyes, but his hair was darker and seemed textured differently, and he had a goatee, with lines in his face. He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, and Bruce could see something blue glowing through the fabric on his chest. He was tall and not largely muscled, but he looked strong, and confident in a way that the other Tony hadn’t, even though he’d pretended to be.

Bruce just couldn’t put it together; it wasn’t the same person.

“No sweat,” said Tony, pulling back the bag. “More for me.” He reached into the bag, then tossed some of the peas into his mouth. “Check this out,” he went on, touching the screen. “This is you.”

It was a diagram of a molecule or something. Bruce didn’t really get it, so he stopped looking at it, looking at his shoes instead.

“Or at least,” said Tony, “I think it’s you. Could be my great aunt Molly. Won’t know until we test it. Wanna try?”

Bruce shrugged.

“We could go to D Lab,” said Tony. “Take some blood, run some scans. Find out how to Flux you back to forty.” He waited, like Bruce was supposed to say something, but he didn’t know what to say. When he looked up, Tony was just staring at him. “Everyone wants to go to D Lab,” Tony said. “It’s the place to party.”

Bruce glanced over at Natasha, who was leaning up against the wall, arms crossed. Her head was turned a little to the side, like she wasn’t paying attention. Bruce thought she was definitely paying attention. Like she was watching out for him, or something, and goddamn it, that was lame, but it made him feel a whole lot better.

“We’ll take Romanoff,” said Tony, following the direction of his gaze. “We can test her too. I’ve always wanted to see whether she’s a robot.”

Bruce just looked at Natasha some more, wondering if she really expected him to put up with this guy, or what. She’d said she respected Tony, back in the car when they’d been going shopping. She’d also said he was funny. That didn’t make him okay, though. To Bruce he seemed sort of like a clown at a party that tried to make kids laugh and instead made them cry. Not that he’d been to many parties, and none of them had had clowns. Bruce knew that that was what happened, though, at parties with clowns.

“You want to go with Jane instead of me?” said Tony.

Bruce just shrugged again, but he always got in trouble when he answered that way, so then he said, “No, sir.”

“Ouch.” Tony winced. “Listen—you don’t . . . hm.”

Bruce could tell he was upset. Tony had turned back to the panels, touching things on them like he was busy—acting like he wasn’t upset. The younger Tony had pretended things all the time, but this was different—less obvious. People were always acting like they weren’t upset, and they thought they could get away with it. Bruce could always tell.

“You can call me Tony,” Tony said after a moment, still looking at the panels.

“Yes, sir,” said Bruce. He wasn’t even sure why he said it: whether it was to make Tony not upset, or to upset him more.

Tony just looked down at him. “’Kay,” he said, after a moment, acting like it didn’t bother him. He touched the screen again, wiping it clean. “We’re just going over to the D Lab, Jane. You know, where all the fun lives. Back in a few.”

They started walking, and Natasha peeled off the wall. They ended up at an elevator—a different elevator than the one Bruce was used to using. “We’re going to your D Lab,” said Tony, pressing the button for the forty-ninth floor. “Did you know you had your own D Lab?”

Bruce didn’t know what he was talking about, but the forty-ninth floor was where he’d destroyed the lab. He didn’t particularly want to go there again.

“You have a whole floor,” Tony said. “Did you know we were building a toilet?”

Bruce didn’t say anything, because of course he didn’t know what he’d been doing as a grown-up, and why would he build a toilet anyway; that was stupid. He could feel Natasha behind him, just standing there.

“Your idea,” said Tony. “You were thinking maybe we could use poop for barbeque. I think you’re crazy. And a genius. Very fuel efficient, anyway. Here we are.” The elevator opened and they stepped out. “You took me to D Lab too, you know. When you were forty-you, and I was wee-me. You poked me with needles, and I was annoying little shit. It was a barrel of laughs.”

Bruce just looked back at Natasha, who shrugged.

“It’s okay,” said Tony. “You can tell me I was annoying little shit. I can take it.”

Tony had quite possibly been the coolest kid that Bruce had ever met. He was sort of an annoying shit now, though.

“This is it,” said Tony, opening the door of another lab. It wasn’t the lab that Bruce had destroyed; they hadn’t even passed by that one. “Go ahead and make yourself comfortable. Lobotomy at five.”

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want,” said Natasha, passing by Bruce on the way into the lab.

“Not true.” Tony was opening drawers, getting things out. “You still have to get dressed in the morning. I thought I was going to get to be naked whenever I wanted.”

Bruce didn’t know what to say to that, either.

“Turns out, it’s all lies,” said Tony. “You wanna come over here? I can’t poke you with sharp things if you’re all the way over there.”

Bruce gave Natasha a long-suffering look, then went over to Tony.

“Gimme a five,” said Tony.

Bruce just stared at him. He knew he was being insolent or whatever, but he couldn’t really tell what Tony was playing at. Like, Bruce could tell Tony was trying to be nice, or whatever, but it sort of seemed false. Like he was still pretending he wasn’t upset or whatever.

“Down low, too slow,” said Tony taking away his hand. “How’s your hand?”

“Fine.”

“Probably feel like you’ve given enough blood for one day, and then we come and ask for more.” Tony tilted his head to one side. “Do you ever wonder if vampires pee? I’ve always wondered that. Can you put out your hand? I von to take a sample.” Bruce put out his hand, and Tony pretended to look at it. “Dear God,” he said. “Your life line is shaped like an integral. You know what that means—oops, there you go.”

“Ow,” said Bruce, pulling his hand away. Tony had pricked it without warning; Bruce hadn’t even seen the needle. “That hurt.”

“I’m gonna label this, put it in the refrigerator,” said Tony, “and I can see exactly how much fun we’re going to have. Want a Band-Aid?”

Bruce just glared at him.

“It’s okay.” Tony scribbled something, then went to put the sample in the refrigerator. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I would have hated me too. Sure you don’t want any peas?” Walking back over, he waggled the bag again. “Natasha, want any peas?”

“Sure,” she said, peeling herself off the wall again. She took the bag, poured out a little handful. “Bruce, you want some peas?”

“Okay,” said Bruce, and put out his hand.

They were crunchy and tasted weird, and then they were too spicy. He could feel his face going red.

Tony snatched the bag back from Natasha. “That was mean,” he said. Raising his brows at Bruce, he asked, “Too spicy?”

Bruce swallowed hard. “Fine,” he said, then added, “sir,” just because he wanted to see what Tony would do.

“Uh-huh.” Tony just tossed more peas in his mouth. “We think the covalent bonds holding your molecules together are different. You heard of tau bonds?”

“Yes,” Bruce said, frowning.

“Great.” Tony ate some more peas. “Shaped like bananas. More reactive than normal bonds, so they fly apart easier, but your bonds, they bounce back. I know you know how this works. You told me all about it when I was still pretending I thought it was photosynthesis. More peas?”

“No.”

“The truth is, you’re smarter than me. I might be good with the mechanics, but your work on the theory—it just really . . . blows my mind. Natasha, take this bag; I’m going to eat the whole thing. Pepper gets mad when I do that; I break into hives. I’m actually allergic to wasabi.”

Rolling her eyes, Natasha took the bag.

Bruce didn’t really care if Tony was saying he was smarter. Adults said things like that all the time, and then still tried to tell you what to do. If they really thought you were smarter than they were, they would just do what you said, but they never did.

“We think that’s why you didn’t age up,” Tony said. “You’re used to taking on mass and releasing it—or at least, the part of you that’s folded somewhere in space-time is used to it, and it’s causing your body here to resist the Flux Accelerator.”

“You mean I’m a freak,” said Bruce.

Tony just stared at him. Then he said, “Yes.”

Bruce glanced at Natasha.

“You think there’s something wrong with being a freak?” Tony’s gaze flicked over to Natasha as well. “Romanoff, there something wrong with being a freak?”

“Nope.” Natasha was eating the peas. Sort of like a traitor, but she smiled up at Bruce. “It’s cool.”

“Natasha thinks it’s cool,” said Tony. “I think it’s great.” He tapped the blue light in his chest. “Sometimes it has its downside. People try to kill you. But it definitely has perks.”

Bruce ran his thumb over his fingers. “Like what?” he asked.

“Natasha?” said Tony.

“You can help people you couldn’t otherwise help if you weren’t a freak,” Natasha said, and popped a pea into her mouth.

“That,” said Tony, looking at Natasha. “I was going to say that.” He looked back down at Bruce. “I was totally going to say that. But also.” He looked thoughtful. “You get all the girls. Romanoff, is that true?”

“Sometimes.” Natasha smiled. “Sometimes I get all the girls.”

“Natasha and I’re on the same page,” said Tony. “We’re both freaks.”

Bruce looked at his shoes.

“You don’t always get a choice to be a freak.” Tony glanced at Natasha again, and Bruce wondered whether he knew—whether Tony knew about her dad and everything. He’d sort of felt like it was a thing she’d just told him, but whatever; he bet Tony knew. “In fact,” Tony went on, “I would venture to say that almost no one chooses to be a freak in the way that we are freaks. You can only choose what you do with it. You gonna make that choice?”

Bruce lifted his eyes. “What do you want me to do?”

“Do the rest of these tests with me,” said Tony. “And then we’re going to solve your problem. I just . . .” For a moment, he seemed to search for words, which seemed odd for a man like Tony. His gaze slid over to Natasha, and then he looked around the lab. “I need you with me on this, okay?”

Bruce dropped his eyes again. “What about your lab?”

“What?”

“Your lab,” Bruce said loudly. “You know, the one I destroyed?”

There was a silence, and at last Bruce looked up. Tony was just staring at him. “Bruce, I don’t give a fuck about the lab,” he said.

“But I—”

“No. You listen to me.”

Then Tony stepped closer, Bruce took a step back, and Natasha shifted behind him. Not very much, but enough, so that Bruce knew she was there—and he could tell Tony knew too. He could also tell that it upset Tony. He didn’t scowl or frown or anything, but Bruce could tell. Like maybe Tony didn’t want Natasha to be there. Like maybe Tony knew that no one could hurt him, no one could touch him, with Natasha there, and that’s why Tony was pissed off. Like maybe Tony would have if Natasha wasn’t—but the thing was Natasha was short, and Tony was tall. Natasha was small, and Tony wasn’t.

Sometimes Mom tried to protect him too.

“The lab is absolutely the last thing I care about,” said Tony. His voice was almost scary-soft. The way he’d said to Steve, get the fuck away from him, like Bruce was a wild animal, like Bruce was going to destroy everything, which he sort of had. “At this point,” Tony said, “all I care about is you. You’re the only thing, Bruce. The only thing.”

Bruce’s good hand was in a fist, but he wasn’t sure how it got that way. Opening it, he ran his thumb over his fingers. “Why?” was all he said.

“Because you’re my friend.” Tony said it quickly, with absolutely confidence. “And I got you into this mess, and I’m going to get you out. I want,” he began, then changed it. “I only ever wanted—” Then he cut himself off completely, his mouth twisting at the side.

Bruce finally got it, then. Tony was upset because he wanted him back—the other Bruce, the Hulk. The one who he’d said he’d liked so much when he was a kid.

Bruce took another step back. “We’re not friends.”

Tony was quiet for a moment, then said, “That’s okay. That’s—we don’t need to be friends.” Turning away, he scratched the spot on his chest near the lights. He was pretending he wasn’t upset again. “We don’t need to be friends; we just need to work together on this. Come on and look at this with me.” He walked over to a computer.

Bruce looked back at Natasha, who was acting like she hadn’t even stepped up in the first place. Instead, she was digging through the bag of peas. “He’s not bad once you get to know him,” she said, so Bruce went.

Tony called up some files to show Bruce the work he and Foster had already been doing on Bruce’s . . . condition or whatever, and then Tony started explaining them. Bruce got out the glasses Natasha had gotten for him, and tried to pay attention. Sometimes he didn’t understand what Tony was saying, but he was reluctant to ask. At least Tony wasn’t acting like he was a kid anymore.

After several minutes or so, he let Bruce get on the computer, and then started pointing things out to him, and it was a little—just a little—like when they’d both been the same age and Tony had been showing him the Flux Accelerator. Except it wasn’t really like that all, partly because Tony was much bigger and much smarter, and also didn’t act like such a know-it-all—maybe because now he actually did know it all.

The other difference was that Tony didn’t keep touching him all the time, like he had before. He didn’t touch him at all. Not even once.

“You did a CT scan on me,” Tony was saying.

Bruce guessed that would have told him about Tony’s tissues or whatever, but he didn’t really see how it connected to his own problem, which seemed to be on a molecular level. He still didn’t say anything though—even though Tony kind of seemed like he was waiting.

Tony waited a moment more, then said, “That’s not really going to give us much of anything. Luckily, you just happen to have a gamma camera sitting around your lab. Fancy that.” He waited again, glancing at Bruce, then tapped something on his tablet, changing the equations on Bruce’s screen. “Never thought I’d have a chance to use it,” Tony went on, after a moment. “Been sitting around picking up dust. Forty-you didn’t think it was funny. I thought it was hilarious. Have you seen 2001, A Space Oddyssey?”

Bruce wanted to be agreeable. He wasn’t trying to be disagreeable—or anyway, not anymore, because he knew Tony was trying to help him, but he hadn’t seen 2001. So he said, “No.”

“You should see it. It’s good. Great big robot. Super quick aging at the end. You’ll love it.”

“Okay,” said Bruce.

Tony opened his mouth, then shut it. Turning away, he started poking things on his tablet. “What movies do you like?” he asked after a moment. When Bruce just shrugged, he said, “Yeah. Me too. Too busy. I was always building things. No time for cartoons and movies. How about you?”

Bruce did homework, his own projects, and a lot of detention. It didn’t really leave time for things like movies, even if Mom had approved of things like movies, which she didn’t. He’d seen part of Star Wars, because it was Star Wars. Bruce wasn’t about to mention that, though, because he’d snuck in, so all he said was, “Yeah.”

Tony looked like he wanted to say something again, and then didn’t. “Normally we’d use radiopharmaceuticals,” he said instead, touching things on his tablet again. “Positron-emitting radionuclide. It’d work like a tracer, and we’d measure gamma rays. Luckily, that’s all we want, so no pharmaceuticals for you. You just gotta lie there and get measured. Easy-peasy.”

“Alright,” said Bruce, because Tony hadn’t liked ‘okay’ last time.

“Sure, it’s alright.” Tony’s voice went a little softer. “What do you think?”

Bruce glanced over at Natasha again. She was doing something on her phone, like she wasn’t paying attention again. Swallowing, Bruce turned back to Tony. “I think it sounds good?”

“Yes, of course it’s good. I thought it up.” Tony’s voice went softer still. “Are you alright with it?”

Swallowing again, Bruce wasn’t sure what to say. He’d already said it was alright, so he said, “Yes, sir,” which—oops. He’d forgotten that Tony hated ‘sir’. He’d honestly just forgotten.

Tony poked things on his tablet. “Okay,” he said, and turned away. “Okay.” His voice just kept reminding Bruce of the way Tony had said, get the fuck away from him. Bruce tried not to look at Natasha, because he was starting to think that Tony didn’t like that either. “Come over to the camera with me,” said Tony. “We’ll get you set up.”

The camera was like a tube with a bed that slid in, sort of like the pictures in books of things like CAT scanners and MRIs. Taking off his glasses, Bruce went with him, just like Tony said. He got on the bed thing, just like Tony said, and he laid down on it, just like Tony said. He was trying to do everything that Tony said, and it felt like Tony’s voice just kept getting softer and softer, like he was getting more and more upset with him and trying to hide it more and more and more. He wasn’t even trying to be funny anymore, which Bruce could already tell was a bad thing. It was a really bad thing.

“It’s okay,” said Tony, when Bruce was lying on the bed thing and Tony was turning on the scanner. “It’s not going to hurt.”

Which was stupid, because Bruce knew it wasn’t going to hurt, but he tried not to act like he thought it was stupid, so he said, “Okay.”

“You want to be careful not to move,” said Tony. “Can you stay still? Is that okay?”

“Yes, sir,” Bruce said, because he forgot again, and that was stupid too. He knew he had to say still, and Tony kept acting like Bruce was dumb or something.

“Bruce.” Tony’s voice was that same scary-soft tone. “Just relax.”

He was relaxed, but Bruce tried to do it, and said, “Okay.”

Tony was working on the computer, touching the screen, occasionally typing things in. “Alright, we’ll get things started; it's just going to go a little bit at a time,” Tony said. “It’s okay. Not going to hurt.”

Tony must think he was really fucking dumb.

“Bruce,” Tony said quietly. “Remember, stay still.”

He was still, but then Bruce realized he was doing that thing with his hand, so he stopped. The table moved some—scanning or whatever.

“Bruce,” Tony said again, after several minutes. He was still using that quiet tone, but now it sounded strained. “Relax; it’s okay.”

Bruce wanted to shout at him I’m relaxed, but he didn’t.

“Alright,” Tony said. “I’m just going to go talk to Natasha, okay? Stay right here; it’s still scanning.”

“Yes, sir,” said Bruce, trying not to move. He didn’t get why Tony was so frustrated; he was doing everything Tony asked, and he wasn’t complaining or being insolent or anything, and Bruce didn’t want him to talk to Natasha, because he didn’t want her to go away.

“Hey,” said Natasha, and Bruce accidentally looked up. “It’s okay,” she said. “You just lay right there, and I’m gonna sit right here.”

Bruce tried to look without moving his head. Natasha had dragged a stool up next to the bed, and Tony was back over at the computer.

“You’ve gotta stay still.” Natasha put her hand on his, and Bruce realized he was doing that thing again with his thumb, so he stopped.

He guessed he’d been doing it the whole time. That’s why Tony was frustrated, and then he’d had to go and get Natasha—like Bruce was some kind of wuss, or something. Except Tony didn’t think he was a wuss, Bruce finally realized. Tony was afraid.

He was afraid Bruce was going to lose it—just fly off the handle like he’d done last time, just go completely ballistic, and the problem was Bruce couldn’t even blame him. It was completely understandable that that was what Tony thought he was going to do. Who knew. Bruce might even do it. He might even do it right now, who knew; he could never tell, and Tony probably thought he was insane. Like, clinically insane, like some kind of psychopath, and of course Tony didn’t want to touch him. Obviously. Who would want to touch—

“Brusichik,” Natasha said, and Bruce stopped moving his hand again.

Tony had stopped talking completely.

*

After the scan was finally over, Natasha said lunch was ready.

“Go on ahead,” said Tony, doing things on the computer. He wasn’t really looking at either one of them. “I’m just going to go over these results. Bruce,” he said, as they started to walk away. Bruce turned back, and Tony was looking at him then, his eyes as straight and direct as ever. “Good job. You did really well.”

They both knew he hadn’t done well, and Bruce didn’t understand why he felt the need to lie. Sometimes people just did things like that, though, so Bruce left the lab with Natasha.

Pepper and Captain America were in the kitchen with sandwiches. The last time he’d seen them, he’d thrown a stool at Steve’s head, and Pepper had been so horrified she couldn’t even look at him.

“Hey, Bruce,” said Pepper.

“Hi, Doctor Banner,” said Captain America, and took a big bite of his sandwich.

Bruce didn’t actually want to talk to either of them, but when he looked over at Natasha for help she was rummaging among the sandwiches. “Any with ham?” she asked.

“This one,” said Pepper, picking up a plate.

“Thanks.” Natasha checked under the bread. “Bruce, you like ham and mustard?”

“Yes,” said Bruce, wondering how she knew. Not looking at any of them, he got up on the stool that was at the other end of the bar from Captain America.

“Good,” she said, and put the plate in front of him.

“Do you like crusts?” said Pepper.

Frowning, Bruce finally looked up at her. “Crusts?”

Pepper just shrugged. “I hated them. Mom used to cut them off for me.”

Thumb running over his fingers, Bruce glared down at his plate, because she wasn’t his mom.

“What do you want to drink?” asked Pepper.

“Is this salami?” asked Natasha.

“Yes,” said Pepper.

“I don’t care,” said Bruce, still glaring at his plate.

“Want a ginger ale?” said Captain America. He slid a closed, sweaty can in front of Bruce. “I haven’t even started this one.”

Bruce tried to look over at him, but he couldn’t quite make it. It was like sitting next to Abe Lincoln or something. Abe Lincoln whom you had socked in the face. “Thank you, sir,” Bruce said.

“I think I’ll bring Tony and Jane lunch,” said Pepper. She picked up three plates, though, so Bruce guessed she was going to eat with them. He guessed Tony really was her boyfriend, or whatever. He didn’t want to eat with her anyway. “Have a good lunch,” she said, walking out. “There’s cantaloupe in the fridge.”

“I told her you like cantaloupe,” said Captain America, “so she went and got some. Do you still like cantaloupe?”

“Yes, sir,” said Bruce.

“Neat.” Steve sounded like he didn’t mind being called sir at all. He stood up and went and got the cantaloupe out of the refrigerator, and didn’t look like he was hiding anything at all. Like he really did think it was neat that Bruce liked cantaloupe, which was sort of dumb, but whatever.

“Cantaloupe is disgusting,” Natasha said.

Bruce looked around, swallowing. “Where’s Clint?”

“Somewhere.” Natasha flapped a hand. “Probably brooding.”

“Um.” Bruce picked at his crust. Now that he really thought about it, crusts were totally not the best parts of sandwiches. “Why?”

Natasha swallowed a bite of sandwich. “There are a few things Clint hates,” she said. “Absolutely positively despises. He hates them so much he goes off into the rafters and cries about them whenever he sees them, just like the big girl he is.”

“Oh.” Bruce had no idea what she was saying. “What did he see?”

“Probably a cantaloupe,” said Natasha, and went on eating.

“I can’t believe you don’t like cantaloupe.” Holding one of the cantaloupe halves, Steve was carving out the seeds. “Bruce and I love cantaloupe.”

Bruce picked up his sandwich and started eating.

“Disgusting,” Natasha said.

“We had it in Uganda.” Steve started slicing the cantaloupe. “Did you know we lived in Uganda, Bruce?”

“No, sir,” said Bruce, then took another bite of his sandwich.

“Well, we did,” said Steve. “You were a doctor. You really helped people there.”

Bruce glanced at Natasha, who was still eating her sandwich. He guessed Steve was telling the truth. It sounded nice.

“We went on safari,” Steve went on. “We saw elephants. And hippos and a waterfall.”

Bruce kept on eating his sandwich, because he didn’t care about elephants or whatever. Also, he found it highly implausible that he’d gone on safari with Captain America, because that . . . sounded like something a movie star would do or something, like someone who had nothing better to do. In fact, the only thing Bruce could think of that he’d want to do with Captain America was dissect him, and he certainly wasn’t going to say anything to Steve about that.

People never liked it when he said things like that.

“You told me about a bunch of scientific discoveries that had been made in Africa,” Steve went on, slicing the rinds off the cantaloupe slices now. “There was this one fossil in Ethiopia. I think she was named Lucy? You said she was very important to human evolution. Something about the skull.”

“The brain case,” said Bruce.

“Yeah.” Steve put a slice of cantaloupe on Bruce’s plate. “It was smaller than the scientist thought it was going to be. It had something to do with her spine, or something.”

“She walked upright.” Bruce took a bite of the cantaloupe. It was really good, and he couldn’t believe he’d gone on safari. That was really cool, actually. “They knew because of the lumbar curve. And she had a valgus knee, and something about the top of her femur; I forgot what that part is called, but it doesn’t come past the femoral head and that’s how they know she was bipedal.” Then he made himself stop talking, but Steve didn’t look annoyed. He was just eating cantaloupe, and he looked really interested, actually.

“And scientists were surprised, because before, they thought that humans evolved big brains before they started walking on two legs, right?” said Steve.

“Yeah. She’s the oldest bipedal hominid.” Bruce took another bite of cantaloupe.

“I never really thought about evolution before we talked about it that day,” said Steve. He picked up another piece of cantaloupe.

“Why not?”

“Well, because I was taught that God created us all,” said Steve. “I just never really thought about it much beyond that.”

“What do you think now?” Bruce sort of sucked on his cantaloupe, which Mom would have hated.

Steve just smiled. “I still think God had something to do with it.”

“Religion is stupid,” said Bruce. “There isn’t any God.” Then he waited, because that would really have upset Mom. She really hated it when he and Dad said things like that, but that was because he and Dad were really smart, and she wasn’t.

Steve just grabbed another piece of cantaloupe. He’d already had like three. Bruce guessed his metabolism must be completely out of whack. “That’s sort of what you told me before,” he said. “But you were much more polite about it.”

Bruce wanted to ask Natasha if she thought religion was stupid, but she was eating her sandwich and looking at her phone again, so he didn’t. He sucked on his cantaloupe some more, then told Steve, “I went to Honduras.” It sounded kind of important, like going to Uganda.

“Yeah, I heard about that,” said Steve, “That sounds really swell. I’ve always wanted to see more of the world, but then . . . there never seemed to be time.”

“You’re Captain America,” said Bruce, surprised into looking up. “I mean, sir. Captain.” Whatever.

“Sure,” said Steve. “That doesn’t mean I get to do whatever I want.”

Bruce scowled. “Why not?”

“Well, I believe I have a responsibility,” said Steve. He was cutting the rind off more cantaloupe, now.

“Because you’re a freak,” said Bruce. Steve looked surprised, and Bruce went red. “Tony, I mean—” Swallowing, he realized he didn’t really know what to call any of them now. “He said that he was a freak and Natasha was a freak, and I’m a freak, and Natasha said that meant—that it meant we could help people. Or whatever.”

Steve looked at Natasha in surprise. Bruce shouldn’t have said that, he guessed, waiting to see what Steve would do.

But Steve just turned back to Bruce and said, “Sometimes Stark has a funny way of putting things, but yes, that’s what I meant.” He pulled out some plastic from a big box on the counter and started using it to wrap the other half of the cantaloupe. “I really believe in what Miss Romanoff said. I think that we can help people.”

Natasha finally put away her phone. “There any milk in there, Rogers?” she said, as Steve opened the refrigerator and put the cantaloupe in.

“Sure,” said Steve. “Want some?”

“Yeah.” Putting her plate to one side, Natasha hopped up on the counter, then picked her plate up again. “Hit me up.”

Steve got the milk out and two glasses. Bruce was going to tell him he didn’t like milk, but when Steve finished pouring the glasses, he gave one to Natasha and then took one for himself. People were always telling Bruce to drink milk, because they said it was for kids and he looked so small for his grade. It was weird to see adults drinking it, like they thought it was great.

“Why were we in Uganda?” Bruce asked finally.

“Mostly just visiting,” said Steve. “You travel a lot, help people. I wanted to . . . be somewhere else.”

“I help people with the Hulk?” said Bruce.

“Not usually,” said Steve.

“You will if you have to.” Natasha drained the rest of her milk, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “I’ve seen you.”

“Well, yes,” said Steve. He finished his own glass, then put it carefully on the counter. “I’ve seen that too.”

“Is it cool?” said Bruce.

“It’s terrifying,” said Natasha.

“What Miss Romanoff means,” said Steve, plucking yet another piece of the cantaloupe he’d cut from the counter, “is that terrifying is a good thing.”

“You mean because of the aliens,” said Bruce.

“Evil aliens,” Natasha clarified.

“Because of those,” Steve agreed. “Hey, Bruce. Are you still interested in the serum?”

“What?” said Bruce, startled into talking with his mouth full.

“Erskine’s serum,” said Steve. “You used to be interested in it; I was wondering if you still are.”

“Yeah, but . . .” Swallowing, Bruce picked at the remains of his sandwich. He sort of just wanted more cantaloupe. “It’s never been recreated.”

“I know,” said Steve, and put another slice of cantaloupe on Bruce's plate. “I hear people have tried.”

Bruce took another bite of cantaloupe, looking at Steve and wondering whether he should tell him. He was used to people laughing when he said it, so he’d sort of stopped telling them. And his biology teacher had told him he shouldn’t try it, because Captain America was special or whatever, which was stupid. Bruce had sort of liked her before she’d said that, even though she wasn’t all that bright. “I’ve thought about trying it,” Bruce said, watching to see how Steve would react.

“Doesn’t surprise me at all,” Steve said. He started eating the last slice of cantaloupe. “I thought maybe we could go to one of the laboratories, and you could look at my blood.”

“What?” Bruce dropped his cantaloupe.

“It was just a thought.”

“Why?” Bruce knew he sounded suspicious, but he couldn’t help it.

Steve just shrugged. “Once when I visited you, you were looking at your blood in a microscope. I thought it sounded neat—you know, because you’re the Hulk. You said maybe one day we could compare.”

Bruce glanced at Natasha, who was on her phone again, then back at Steve. “But I’m not the Hulk yet.”

“I know,” said Steve. “We don’t have to compare, if you don’t want. We could just look at mine and you could . . . tell me about it. I don’t know; maybe it was a dumb i—”

“I want to,” Bruce said very quickly, so that Steve wouldn’t take it away. “Sir.”

“Neat,” said Steve. “Maybe I’ll learn something.”

Bruce frowned. “Didn’t you learn something when we looked at it before?”

Steve shook his head. “We didn’t look at it. We went on safari instead.”

“I went on safari instead of looking at your blood?” Bruce asked, because that didn’t sound like him at all. He was beginning to doubt the veracity of the safari story all over again. What was he when he grew up, dumb?

Steve smiled. “I don’t think you’re as interested in it later. I mean, you turn into the Hulk, right?”

“That’s not the same,” said Bruce.

“No,” said Steve, “but it’s its own brand of cool. You want to finish up and then we can go play in the lab?”

Ordinarily, Bruce would have grimaced at the way Steve said go play, just like he was a little kid. And, okay, Bruce did grimace a little, but he actually really liked Steve. He hadn’t really thought about Steve all that much when he was a kid—like he was nice and everything, but he hadn’t been cool, and he hadn’t known nearly as much as Tony did. But now it was different. Nice was important when you were grown-up, he guessed. More important than being cool.

So, “Okay,” Bruce said. “Natasha, do you want to come?”

“I dunno,” said Natasha, touching something on her phone. “Are you gonna have to look at things close up?”

Bruce scowled. “Yes?”

“Okay.” Hopping off the counter, Natasha slipped her phone into her pocket. “I think the glasses I got him are cute,” she told Steve.

Bruce scowled some more. “They’re not cute.”

“He doesn’t think they’re cute,” said Natasha.

“They’re not,” Bruce insisted.

“I dunno, Doctor Banner,” said Steve. “If I had a pretty girl telling me I looked cute in glasses, I’d probably wear them all the time.”

Bruce scowled at both of them, then. “I don’t want the rest of my sandwich,” he said. “Do I have to eat it?”

“I’ll put it in a plastic baggy,” said Steve. “You can have it later.”

“Okay,” said Bruce, because Steve was kind of just like Mom, except with big muscles.

He was actually sort of huge, Bruce realized, when he got off the stool and left the kitchen with Steve and Natasha. Bruce remembered that he’d hit him a lot and pushed him down when he was a little kid, but he wasn’t sure Steve even remembered those things. Sometimes people acted like they didn’t remember, but they always did, except Steve was Captain America. Bruce wasn’t even sure Captain America knew how to pretend. He was just like George Washington.

And Bruce was going to get to look at his blood.

“Do you know where we should go?” Steve asked, as they walked toward the elevator.

Bruce looked up at him, but he wasn’t asking Natasha, who was already looking at her phone again. “Um,” Bruce said. He didn’t want to go to the lab he’d messed up, and D Lab looked more medical anyway, but maybe Tony was still in there. Bruce glanced over at Natasha. “Maybe we can go to D Lab if it’s empty,” he decided.

“It’s empty,” said Natasha. “Stark’s with Foster on fifty-four.”

“Okay,” said Bruce. “We’re going to floor forty-nine. That’s my floor.”

“You have a floor?” Steve asked, as they got in the elevator.

“Yeah.” Bruce pressed the button. “There’s a gamma camera and everything.”

“I guess that’s appropriate,” Steve said.

They were quiet for a while as the elevator went down, then they got out. “This way,” Bruce told them, and Steve and Natasha just followed him and didn’t try to get in front. Bruce tried to glance surreptitiously up at Steve. “Did you like being a kid?” Bruce asked finally, as he pulled the door to the lab open. “I mean, getting turned into a kid? Was it fun?”

“It was really disorienting,” said Steve. “I didn’t know anything. I sort of just started pretending I was in a film.”

Bruce started looking through the drawers. He already knew where the needles and tubes and stuff were, and he’d seen a microscope earlier. The main thing he needed to find were some blank slides.

Steve said, “There was this comic strip when I was little—it was called Buck Rogers. I used to pretend I was him—because, you know, the name and everything. When I got changed into a kid—well, that seemed pretty apropos.”

Glancing from the drawer over to Steve, Bruce asked, “So it wasn’t fun?”

Steve thought about that for a while. “Well, parts were fun. I really liked learning to swim. And when Tony taught me to spar—I could tell he was trying really hard to be nice.”

Yeah. Tony tried really hard to be nice. Bruce shoved one of the drawers closed. Instead of looking over at Captain America, he opened another drawer, because he knew Steve was going to start asking him questions, now. Teachers and counselors and people like him always asked questions; usually it was just why don’t you like so-and-so, but sometimes it was did he hurt you and where did he touch you, and it was stupid. It was really fucking stupid.

But Steve didn’t ask any question about Tony. Instead he just said, “I rather liked Truth or Dare at the time, but now I’m pretty mortified, actually.”

“Mortified?” Bruce asked, and then he remembered that Pepper had kissed Steve.

“I’m sure Pepper is too,” said Steve, and didn’t actually sound that mortified.

“Is Tony—Stark mad?”

“I haven’t really talked to him about it,” said Steve, “but I’m guessing not. Mister Stark doesn’t really get mad all that much.” Bruce wondered why he was lying, then Steve went on, “Knowing Tony, he probably just thinks it’s funny. Tony thinks lots of things are funny.”

That was also a lie, because Tony just pretended lots of things were funny, and then Bruce realized that Steve didn’t know he was lying. Steve just didn’t have it figured out yet.

“You have to prick your finger,” was all Bruce said, because he’d found the blank slides. He got the prick-thing ready, and the tube.

“You can do it,” Steve said, and put out his hand.

Bruce looked at it, Steve’s big, strong hand, with its veins and very well-trimmed nails, and tried not to let anything show on his face. There was nothing he would less rather do than touch Steve’s hand and prick Steve’s finger. He didn’t even know why. It just seemed horrible somehow, but Bruce really wanted to see his blood. He hadn’t considered this when Steve had suggested it.

“I’ll do it,” said Natasha—which just proved she did pay attention when she looked like she wasn’t. Bruce had been pretty sure about that, and now he knew. “Don’t be a girl now,” she told Steve, then took his hand.

“As long as you’re gentle with me,” said Steve, and she pricked it.

“There you go,” she said, and handed Bruce the blood. “You okay?" she asked Steve. "Want a Band-Aid or something?”

“I think I’ll live,” said Steve.

While Bruce put on his glasses, Natasha smirked at Steve. “You’re supposed to keep your blood on the inside, you know.”

“I could say the same to you,” said Steve.

Bruce hadn’t really thought about how maybe they got bloody sometimes, fighting aliens or whatever crazy things people from the future did. He thought about it as he prepared the slide; he didn't like the thought of Natasha getting hurt, but Jarvis said she was highly trained or whatever, and it sounded like Captain America maybe helped her. He wasn't sure what he thought about that.

“Don’t worry.” Natasha came around to Bruce's side, like she wanted to see what he was doing or something. “Rogers always has my back.”

“Miss Romanoff always has mine.” Steve hooked a stool with his ankle, and sat beside Bruce on his other side. “She’s right, you know,” he said. “Those glasses are cute.”

“No, they’re not,” said Bruce. It wasn’t fair, because he had to concentrate on getting the droplets on the glass, but he really wanted to glare at Steve.

“Of course they’re cute,” said Natasha. “I bought them.”

“They’re not cute,” Bruce said again, and put the plastic over the drop of blood.

“You know what makes them even cuter?” said Steve. “Whining.”

Bruce wasn’t whining, but he didn’t want to give them any ammunition, so he didn’t say anything, and put the slide under the microscope. “Whatever,” he said, and wondered if this was what having parents was supposed to be like.

*

After they looked at the blood—it was really neat—Natasha said they should go out, since it was just Bruce, and they could bring Steve. Bruce wondered about that, because he thought he was supposed to help Tony and Foster or whatever, but he guessed maybe Tony didn’t want his help after all. So he and Natasha and Steve went to go see a movie—it was the next Star Trek movie—and then got dinner. Then they got back to Stark Tower, and Bruce had tried to help Foster then while Tony was on floor forty-nine doing something on the Flux Accelerator. Eventually Bruce must have gotten sleepy, because Natasha woke him up and took him to bed again.

Late that night, or maybe early the next morning, Natasha came to wake Bruce up. One hand was on his arm, another in his hair when he startled awake, and she said, “Shh, it’s me.”

Bruce sort of couldn’t believe how much he would have liked for her to get into bed beside him, the way that Mom used to do when he had nightmares. That was seriously messed up, because he was way older now and she was—she was way prettier than Mom and earlier today (yesterday?) he’d accidentally felt her boobs. But honestly he didn’t want to do anything like that with her; he just wanted her there, and for her to say nice things, and keep touching his hair.

Then he woke up the rest of the way, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. “What?”

“They’ve got it working.” She ruffled his hair, then took her hand away. Picking up a pile of clothes, she said, “I brought you big clothes, so you’ll fit in them. You want to get dressed and come with me?”

Bruce looked up at her. “How do they know it works?”

“They’re as certain as they can be. I know you find this hard to believe, but Stark . . . wants to protect you. He wouldn’t do it if he thought there was a remote possibility of it hurting you.”

Bruce frowned down at his sheets. “I don’t think Stark likes me.”

Natasha stared down at him, then after a moment, touched his sheet-covered knees. “Scooch,” she said. He shifted over, and she sat down. “Someone needs to tell you this before we do this, just in case. Stark likes you so much he can barely see straight.”

It took Bruce a moment to process that she must mean Tony liked the adult him.

“Whether you’re an adult or kid,” said Natasha. “If he seems on edge, it’s because he thinks that he’s put you in danger. I’ve known Stark a while. I thought he was crazy before, but I’ve never seen him crazy like this. He’s out of his mind with the thought that he’s hurt you. He’s so out of his mind that I’d say he was certifiable, except Stark's crazy isn't like other people's crazy. He gets stone-cold determined, and when he's like that, nothing can stop him. If anyone can get you out of this, he can, and if no one can do it, he will find a way. That man would break into Hell itself for you, and there’s not many people he would do that for.”

Bruce just looked at his hands. He didn’t understand how what Natasha was saying could possibly be true. “I don’t want to make anyone crazy,” was all he said.

“I know you don’t, lapushka. You just do.” Her hand carded through his hair again, and she stood up. “I’ll be right outside.”

After Bruce got dressed, they went in the elevator. “Do you want to see them first?” Natasha asked, holding the elevator doors. “They’re all waiting in the viewing lab, but they’ll understand if you don’t want to see them. We can just go straight down to the Flux Accelerator, if you want.”

“Um,” said Bruce, rubbing his eyes. Steve wasn’t so bad, and he didn’t mind Pepper, but when he thought about what Natasha had said about Tony, he really didn’t want to see him. Bruce really didn’t want to make anyone crazy, and the only reason he could think of why Tony would be that way was that he really didn’t like Bruce as a kid and just wanted the other Bruce back. Thinking he wouldn’t like to see the hope on all of their faces—hope that was so mirrored in himself—he finally said, “Can we just go down?”

“Of course,” said Natasha, and pressed the button for the forty-ninth floor.

“Did you buy these?” said Bruce, plucking at his too-big pants. They didn’t fit so differently from his other ones, which he guessed he’d gotten blood all over. These were still really big, but the material was much nicer than he was used to wearing.

“They’re Stark’s,” said Natasha. “I’m sorry. Your own were in the wash; I didn’t know when the Accelerator would be ready.”

Bruce just kept thinking about what Natasha had said, and it made him really not want to be wearing Stark’s clothes. “He doesn’t mind if I borrow them?”

“He doesn’t mind,” said Natasha. “You’ve done it before. I’m going to get you set up in the lab, and then I’m going to leave. They’re going to start the procedure, and when it’s finished, I’ll be there. You got that?” she said, as the doors to the elevator opened. “I will be the first thing you see.”

“Got it,” said Bruce.

“Okay,” she said, and they walked into the lab.

Though someone had cleaned up most of the broken monitors and glass, the lab still bore evidence of his tantrum—missing computers, a missing stool, some of the benches just standing empty. Bruce tried not to look.

This was probably why he made people crazy.

“Alright,” said Natasha, once they were by the Flux Accelerator. “You just have to stand here, okay?”

“Natasha?” he asked, as she turned away.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

She turned all the way back to him then. “Don’t ever forget what I promised you,” she said, and kissed him on the forehead.

Then she turned and walked away.

At first, Bruce thought maybe she was referring to what she’d said about being the first thing he saw, but then he realized she hadn’t promised that. She’d only promised just one thing.

I will never let anyone hurt you.

“Mister Stark wishes to know whether you are ready,” said Jarvis.

“Yes,” said Bruce, and closed his eyes. He didn’t even know what he’d do if this didn’t work.

“Initializing,” said Jarvis, and then the pain started.

*

Bruce came to on his knees, and he remembered everything. When he looked up, the first thing he saw was Natasha.

Christ.

He just kind of wanted to curl up and die, so he slowly stood up, and remembered to breathe.

Natasha smiled. “Welcome back, Doctor Banner.”

“Yeah,” said Bruce. “Thanks.”

“Guess I have to give you these.” She held out his glasses.

He took them back. “Thanks,” he said again. In her eyes, he could read all the things that she could see now—all the things that all of them could see.

It wasn’t ever like he’d kept it a close secret, except he sort of had. What his father had done to his mother had been in his file, but the rest hadn’t been. Now they all knew, and it wasn’t as though any of them would treat him any differently for it, just as none of them treated any differently after he’d told them about the bullet he’d put in his mouth.

The only difference was that they now knew more of him than any people he had ever known. They now knew more than Betty. They—this strange group of misfits and live wires that Fury had brought together, who never should have even existed.

Bruce felt raw, watching the rest come in—Tony, Pepper—and Steve, who was the one person Bruce wouldn’t have minded telling. Bruce was long past the point of shame—he had dealt with that long ago. Still, it was a bit . . . difficult, looking at them and knowing that they now understood what exactly the Hulk was, and where exactly it came from.

“Doctor Banner, it’s nice to have you back,” Steve said, his hand warm and firm on Bruce’s shoulder. His voice was good. It always sounded good.

“Do you feel okay?” Pepper asked, and Bruce knew why she had stayed away when she had been grown and he had been small. It was the quality of her eyes, how completely pity could fill them. She must have known that about herself, and known that Bruce would hate it.

Then there was Tony. There was always Tony. “Welcome back,” he said, and then he was touching Bruce too—the hand on his shoulder, strong palm in his own. “Not that we don’t miss mini-you.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Foster said, putting out her hand. It was an excuse to turn away from Tony, so Bruce took it. “You-you, I mean. It was nice to meet the other you too.”

“Thanks for all your help,” Bruce said. She was still shaking his hand. He wished he’d remembered that about her, because he could strongly do without all this touching, just now.

“Absolutely my pleasure. Sorry about the botched calculations on the first run.”

“Not your fault,” said Bruce. “In case you didn’t notice, I did the same thing.”

“Not your fault either,” Tony said, in that quick, confident voice.

Bruce slid his gaze over to him, and then couldn’t meet his eyes. “Um, Jane?” Bruce said. “Can I have my hand?”

“God, sorry. Did I mention I’m a fan of yours? We should get together. Have coffee.”

“Doctor Banner makes excellent coffee,” said Steve.

“Really?” said Jane. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you anyway. There needs to be a way on our end to open up a portal to Asgard, and I was wondering if you had any—”

“I’m so sorry, Jane,” said Bruce. “But I am really, really tired right now. Can this possibly . . . wait?”

“God, of course, you’re exhausted,” Jane said. “Do you want anything? Coffee? Tea? They have a great soda selection here.”

“I’m just . . .” He just wasn’t going to explode, right here. Right now. “I’m going to go home.” He looked around. Natasha wasn’t there anymore. Neither was Clint. “If that’s alright with everyone.”

“I’ll take you,” said Steve, which was very nice, but the thought of riding with Steve on his motorcycle made Bruce feel physically ill. He didn’t even know if it was the bump and roar of the bike or just the thought of having to be that close to Steve.

“That’s okay. Please.” Bruce looked around at everyone again. “I’m sorry I turned everyone into kids, and thank you for being so nice to me. Thank you for . . . everything. Thank Natasha and Clint, too.”

He’d made it to the door by the time Tony stopped him, which Bruce had completely expected, just hoped wouldn’t happen. Tony tugged his elbow. Too weary to protest, Bruce turned around.

“That was genius, what you did,” said Tony.

“Tony,” said Bruce.

Tony grimaced. “I understand you’re angry. Just let me finish. I wanted you to know that I meant what I said, too. About when I was wee-me and you were forty-you. You were—incredibly good. You didn’t question, and you didn’t condemn; you just did what you had to to fix the problem and you were unfathomably, incandescently—noble. You deserve a prize, for what you did. You deserve medals. And the way you were with me—that was good, too.”

Bruce closed his eyes, and when he opened them, Tony was still there. “What the fuck were you thinking?” he said, his voice husky and scraped raw.

Tony bared his teeth. “Jesus, Bruce—”

“I know you didn’t mean for this to happen. I know it. But just . . .” Bruce ground his teeth together, pressed his lips in, and somehow even his exhaustion felt like rage. “Just what were you thinking?”

“I wanted to make a time machine,” Tony said blankly.

“Congratulations,” Bruce said, opening the door. “You made one.”

Tony put his palm flat on the door, shut it. “I wasn’t fucking around. I was trying to make this world better.”

Bruce just looked at him. “Even if you did make a time machine, what are you going to do? Go back in time and kill Hitler?”

“Maybe.”

“Fuck you,” said Bruce.

“I didn’t think I would succeed. Dammit, Bruce.” Tony looked across the lab, where Pepper, Jane, and Steve were all talking to each other quietly. Both Pepper and Steve kept tossing concerned glances their way, while Jane did most of the talking. “Some of the world’s brightest innovations have come out of attempts to achieve the impossible,” Tony said, turning back. “I was working on the . . . Flux Accelerator—” he waved a hand—“whatever you want to call it, because the next time the Tesseract comes to town, I’m going to be ready for it.”

“The Tesseract is in Asgard,” Bruce said tiredly. “With Thor. It’s not going anywhere.”

“And it’s the only object in the universe that could possibly be a threat? Wake up, Bruce.”

Bruce found that his fists were clenched, so he put them in his pockets. “If you had succeeded—if you could go back in time—would you change your history? Any of it?”

“No,” said Tony. “Of course not. I was never going to—”

“And mine?” Bruce lifted his brows. “Knowing what you now know. Would you change mine?”

Tony flinched. For a moment, his gaze flicked away. It came back almost immediately, hot and intense, burning through Bruce. “No. You know I wouldn’t. Even for that. But if you’re trying to tell me that things happen for a reason, so help me God—”

“No,” said Bruce. “I’m saying some weapons should never be used. Ever. No matter how bad things get. No matter how extreme or terrible it seems—there’s always something worse. There’s always something worse. You can’t just fix things with enough guns.”

“It’s not a gun,” said Tony.

“I’m done with this conversation.” As Bruce tried to pull open the door again, Tony held his hand out and shut it. Bruce said, “If you don’t let me out of here—”

“You’ll what?” Tony said. “Go on and do it.”

“Jesus Christ, Tony.” Bruce couldn’t help glancing at the lab that he’d basically destroyed. “I already did.”

“Don’t.” Tony’s voice was hoarse. “Don’t say that. You were a child, Bruce. A child. And, know what, if I could go back and time and—”

Bruce didn’t want to listen to this. He didn’t have to listen to this. “I didn’t trust you when I was twelve. Want to know why?”

Tony shut his mouth.

“It was because as the adult, you had all of the power, but you didn’t act like you did.”

Tony’s face was blank, unreadable. His eyes seemed almost black, like holes in his face.

“You were trying to make me comfortable, and I appreciate that,” said Bruce. “I do, and I’m sorry that you failed. But when you’re the one with the power, you’ve also got to be the one who’s responsible for the fact that not everything’s going to work the way you want it to. You can’t just fix everything. You just can’t.”

Tony stared at him for a moment longer. Then, grimacing, he looked away. “I can’t fix everything. I can only try. If that’s not good enough for you, then you can go.”

Bruce hesitated.

“Go on,” said Tony. “Go.”

Bruce went.

*

For the first few days after Bruce grew up, he’d been sure he was going to leave town. He didn’t want to talk to anyone; City College kept calling and leaving him messages. Then Steve called. Bruce didn’t want to talk to him either, but he answered because it was Steve. His voice sounded nothing like pity, and everything like redemption.

So he came over and they played another game of chess.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Steve said. “We don’t have to.”

Bruce laughed, a little harshly. He’d said practically the same words to Tony when Tony had been twelve. He supposed a part of him would always be twelve. “At least I can say now that I’m really sorry I pushed you when you were a kid,” was all he said.

“Just think about how Pepper feels.”

Bruce moved his rooks. “I actually have no lasting trauma concerning a twelve year old girl hitting me.”

Steve smirked. “I meant because she kissed me.”

Bruce was surprised into laughter. “Right. You mean it’s not all about me?”

“It isn’t, but a lot of it was.”

“Well, Rogers, spill. Was she any good?”

Steve just smiled. “I don’t kiss and tell, Doctor Banner.” He moved his knight. “I want to say that I’m sorry I grabbed you. We don’t have to talk about it. I’m just sorry that any of that happened.”

Swallowing a sigh, Bruce pushed a pawn. “Wasn’t your fault, Steve.”

“Wasn’t yours either.” Steve looked up, eyes too blue, really, to be believed. “It puts what you did that day in Uganda in a new light.”

Bruce didn’t want to think about that day in Uganda. It had been hot, the school yard very dry. The child had cried out, the principal had had a cane, and the only thing Bruce had been able to think was not my call.

Bruce didn’t want to think about any of it.

Steve went on, “I wanted to tell you—I admire you for doing what you did that day, even though I was angry at the time. You were . . . noble.”

“Tony said the same thing,” he said, not meeting Steve’s eyes.

“Stark’s doing the best that he can.” Steve glanced up, then had mercy, and looked back at the board. “I’m not trying to excuse him to you.”

“Thanks,” said Bruce.

Steve took his pawn with a bishop. “Talked to Miss Romanoff lately?”

“Steve.”

Steve shrugged. “Just wondering.”

Swallowing another sigh, Bruce moved his queen out of check. “I should be angry with you for showing me your blood.”

Smiling, Steve pushed a pawn. “It was the one thing I was sure would catch your interest at that age.”

“I know. You were a crafty bastard.”

“Me?” said Steve. “Doctor Banner, I’m offended. Check.”

Already knowing he was going to lose horribly, Bruce made a stupid move with his queen. “Twelve-year-old Tony asked about us,” he said.

“Did he?” said Steve. He was closing in with his knights, a pair of pincers. He always did that—when it wasn’t the bishops.

“He asked whether we were friends,” said Bruce, moving another rook.

“I hope you didn’t tell him how much we talk about him behind his back,” Steve said, moving his knight again.

Bruce laughed, pushing a pawn. “No, his ego was big enough at that age.”

“Good,” said Steve. “Checkmate. Good game.” He stuck out his hand, because he did that when he won.

Bruce took it. “It was an awful game. But I liked it.”

*

Three days later, Bruce took a good look at his phone. Scrolling through the contacts, he found the one he wanted, a number he had never called. He hadn’t even put it in the phone. Then again, it wasn’t his phone; it had just been given to him. He pressed the button.

“Banner?” said the voice on the other end, surprised.

“So, I heard you want to spar,” said Bruce.

Comments

[synecdochic]

Oh, man. Bruce breaks my heart in this story, seriously. I want to bake him cookies and make him soup and spend hours trying to lure him out of his defensive shell!

[lettered]

He'd probably be totally wtf at you if you did that, but *I* would love it! Thanks, I'm touched you read it and glad you liked it.