Chapter Text
“I dunno about this, Tony.”
“C’mon, big guy. What could go wrong?”
“I hate when you say that. We always get in trouble when you say that.”
“Remember what I said about tiptoeing an’ strutting? This is one of those moments where you gotta strut.”
Bruce bit at his bottom lip, hands already wringing themselves together. He pushed his too-large glasses up his nose, ran a hand through his mop of limp curls.
He wasn’t sure they were – that he was supposed to be here. He wasn’t cut out for this kind of thing, or at least he’d never thought he was. Pokémon trainers were always so cool, and mature, and they knew everything, and, well…Bruce wasn’t cool or mature and he sure didn’t know anything like everything. He was just a science nerd. A teacher’s pet who’d rather be alone with his Kid’s Lab Kit than daydreaming about future Gym badges with all the rest of the kids.
Which certainly didn’t explain why Tony – cool, popular, cool Tony – was his best friend. Tony’s dad was well-known in the Pokémon world, always designing some new tech for catching or healing or super-powering a trainer’s team. People were always saying how they expected great things from Tony, or wondering over what kind of Trainer he’d be. It was always Tony Tony Tony, with Bruce standing shyly off to the side, torn between jealousy at the attention and pathetic gratitude that no one was bothering him.
He still wasn’t exactly sure why Tony seemed to like him so much, or how he’d been so lucky to be befriended by him. He only knew that it had always been just the two of them, at the end of the day.
And now they stood in front of Professor Selvig’s lab on the morning of his tenth birthday to get his first Pokémon. The first for both of them – Tony was older than him by a whole month and a half but he’d wanted to wait for Bruce before starting out.
That was the only thing, really, that had him sucking in a deep breath and pushing open the door twice his size. Tony was right here next to him. Tony was his friend, and they were gonna take on the world together. With Tony by his side, Bruce didn’t feel like a freak – he felt smart, cool, special. One of a kind.
A muffled gasp escaped him upon entering the lab, and Tony chuckled and gave him a friendly punch to the arm. It was big, this place. Big and pale and very, very grown-up. Tall men and women in long white coats were poring over massive tomes, or typing furiously away at their big, whirring computers. The white-noise of the place was deafening in its hushed murmur.
His instinct was to shrink away, and his gaze flicked to his friend. Beneath the laughing mask of yeah-its-cool-but-I’ve-seen-better, there was a kind of disbelieving sparkle in Tony’s eyes and, unless Bruce was very much mistaken, the barest tremble in his lower lip. Worry pricking through the wonder, Bruce took his hand and squeezed gently, reassuringly. The tremble vanished.
“You must be Stark’s boy.” Tall, grey-haired, blue-eyed and solidly built, the renowned researcher Erik Selvig approached them, stopping a few feet away to peer down at the pair with his head tilted to the side. There were bags under his eyes and an air of quiet distractedness about him.
“That’s what they call me, but my name’s Tony.”
“And you?”
“…’m Bruce.” Belatedly he stuck out a hand, plastered on a smile. “I…it’s um…it’s totally awesome to meet you, Professor Selvig. I read all your papers, even though Mom said I prolly wouldn’t get them, and well I didn’t really get everything but it’s okay ’cause they were just the most interesting stuff, especially all the stuff about harnessing energy, and –”
“Slow down there.” Bemused, he cocked an eyebrow at the ball of nervous fidgeting before him. “Always glad to meet a fan, of course. But I’m thinking you’re here for something else, yes?”
He doesn’t wanna talk about science.
“Me ’n Bruce are lookin’ to get us each a Pokémon!” Slinging an arm around his friend’s slightly deflated shoulders, Tony shot the Professor a megawatt smile. “What kinds have you got?”
Selvig’s gaze lingered for just a moment on Bruce before acknowledging Tony with a small smile and motioning for the boys to follow him. “You’ll have to come and see for yourself,” he said over his shoulder.
“Tony, are you sure –”
“What’s wrong now?”
“What if none of them like me?”
“One of ’em’s gotta.”
“All the books say if your Pokémon doesn’t like you they won’t listen.”
“I like you, and I don’t always listen.” Tony grinned teasingly. “Pokémon ain’t all black and white, y’know.”
Bruce conceded this with a sort of shrugging nod. “But just say –”
“Then we’ll just go tear through this dump ’til we find one that does.”
“Keep your voice down!”
Selvig, to his credit, seemed to be pretending not to hear their whispered discourse. He circled around a low table to a set of locked cabinets at the very back of the lab, punched in a combination and withdrew a small tray. He set it gently on the table in front of the boys and stepped back.
Three Pokéballs sat there, looking innocent enough.
“Why’s that one wiggling?” Tony leaned forward to poke at the ball. “Is it on a sugar high or something?”
“The Pokémon don’t dissipate when they’re put into Pokéballs,” Bruce said automatically. “They’re…I think the word is reduced, but basically what happens is that their molecular structure gets temporarily disbanded, and then rearranged so that they’re smaller and can fit into a differently sized space. Then they reform once the ball’s closed up, and have been known to move around inside.” Eagerly he looked up at the professor. “I mean I don’t know the exact science of it but that’s the basics, right?”
“Spot on.” Again he gave Bruce that queer look, and again it was gone in an instant. “This one’s the Water-type,” he started, pointing to the Pokéball on the left. “This middle one is Fire-type, and this one,” he took the wiggling ball and held it out towards Bruce, “Is Grass-type.”
Brightening warily, Bruce reached out a small hand, felt his brow quirk at how heavy the ball seemed at first. It sat there a moment, twitching every now and again. It was almost a quizzical motion, as though the creature inside knew that something had changed in its immediate environment.
On the tail of that thought the ball suddenly burst open, and Bruce felt a surprised laugh spill out of him as the white light formed into a Pokémon with a large leaf on its head. It stared up at him with cherry red eyes, and if Bruce didn’t know better he’d say it was studying him.
“Hi there,” he said shyly. “My name’s Bruce. What’s yours?”
“It’s a Ch–”
Bruce waved a hand impatiently at Tony. “I know you know. I want it to tell me instead.” Something very strange was welling up inside him.
The Pokémon tossed its head then gave off a kind of musical chirping, roughly shaped into a word.
“Chi – Chikorita? Is that right?” It nodded, leaf bobbing. “Huh, that’s kind of a funny name. Can I – ow!”
Tony laughed as Bruce sucked on the cut Chikorita had sliced into Bruce’s hand with its leaf. “That one’s got a hell of an attitude. I like it!”
“Generally Pokémon have a strong sense of pride,” Selvig explained. “And they don’t appreciate teasing or insults.”
“But I didn’t mean it in a bad way!” Hurt, Bruce looked back at Chikorita. “I didn’t mean funny like stupid. I meant like something I hadn’t heard anything like before. Funny like different and new.”
Chikorita blinked a few times before padding back to its Pokéball, poking the button with its nose and slipping inside. This time, the ball didn’t wiggle.
“What did I do wrong?” Inexplicably sad now, Bruce eyed the inert ball. “Why did Chikorita go away?”
“That Chikorita came to us from a bad situation,” Selvig said. “We don’t know the details; it was sulking in the trees out behind the lab when we found it, covered in scratches and burns. We’ve had it maybe four months, and it has become less hostile within that time but it won’t approach our other Pokémon voluntarily. Occasionally others will approach it, but it either ignores or attacks them when they do.”
“Oh.” That made sense, Bruce thought. “Is there anything that makes it not hostile?”
“Why do you ask?” Selvig leaned back against the cabinets and slid his gaze away, making a thorough study of the remnants of cotton swabs stuck under his fingernails. “It would take an immensely skilled Trainer with a good deal of patience to adequately raise such a Pokémon.”
“J-just ’cause I’m a nerdy weird kid doesn’t mean I couldn’t do it!” The sharpness of defensive anger, never very far away, whipped into the boy’s voice. But no sooner had the words burst out of him than his face went beet red, and he hung his head between hunched shoulders.
And then Tony was there standing between Bruce and Selvig, hands on his hips. “Go away for a minute, would ya?” Without waiting for a reply he grabbed his friend by the wrist and tugged him to the other side of the room.
“It’s okay, big guy.”
“No it’s not. I yelled at a grown-up, and now I won’t get to get a Pokémon and everyone will laugh at me, and my parents will be mad, and Chikorita won’t get to have a friend.” His hands were clenching and unclenching, and he was shaking. “It’s not fair.”
Tony mulled this over for a minute. “Nah, it’s really not. What else is new?” When Bruce glared at him, he simply held his gaze. “What, you mad at me now?”
“You’re my friend. ’m not supposed to be mad at you.”
“That’s bullcrap and you know it. People get mad and its okay.”
“But when I get mad people get hurt. I hate it!”
Irritation flashed across Tony’s face. “They had it coming. They were hurting you first. Look.” He jerked his head in the direction of the Pokéballs still waiting. “This is the beginning of a new chapter, right? Something new and different, like you said. Why not just grab it and go?”
Bruce hesitated, hands twisting themselves together again. His gaze flicked over to where Selvig stood tactfully not watching, then back to Tony with his stupid encouraging face. Always so assured that everything would be fine. That he would be fine.
His eyes settled on the ball that sat apart from the other two, where Chikorita had so recently escaped to. If that were him, he wouldn’t want to be left alone just ’cause he blew up at new people sometimes. He would want to be given a chance.
His shoulders sagged, and Tony let out a whoosh of air before sweeping out his arm in invitation for Bruce to lead the way. So he put one foot in front of the other until he was standing back in front of the Professor.
“ ’m sorry I blew up, Professor Selvig. I just really want to train Chikorita ’cause I think I could.” Warily defiant, he attempted to square his shoulders as he met Selvig’s eyes. “And um, Tony needs a starter too so you should offer him a Pokémon same as me.”
“I didn’t make those comments about training Chikorita because I thought you couldn’t,” Selvig said easily as he proffered a Pokéball to Tony. “I just wanted to make sure you really wanted to before taking on such a commitment.”
“I want to. I’ll be the very best Trainer ever, I promise.” Bruce reached out, letting his hand hover a moment before closing over Chikorita’s Pokéball.
“Yeah but you’re gonna hafta race me to the finish line,” Tony said, trying to hide his glee at the small, dark-blue-and-yellow creature that now sat on the table, purring happily as he pet just above the flames along its back. “Me an’ Cyndaquil are gonna become champions faster than you can say ‘Science’!”
“…science.” When Tony rolled his eyes, Bruce let himself smile a bit. “Let’s go, buddy,” he murmured to the Pokéball. “You and me, we’re gonna show them how awesome we are.” He and Tony left the lab chattering to each other, unaware of Selvig’s gaze following them out as he dialed a number into his desk phone.
“Selvig. Yes, Stark showed. Brought a friend too. Fierce kid.” His eyes narrowed a bit. “No, nothing outside of what you’d expect. Just a couple of kids starting their journey like all the rest.”
“Yes, they received the Pokéballs with tracking devices. If their movement is usual they should be encountering Agent Coulson by the week’s end.” He puttered as he talked, placing the last Pokémon back in its cupboard and clearing away general detritus. “Yes. No. No. If that’s all?” Moments later the phone was back in its receiver and his laptop was whirring.
He pulled up his tracking program with a few keystrokes, noting with satisfaction the two red blips now milling around the entrance to Route 29. He’d done his part. All that remained now was to see if this dynamic duo would do theirs.