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Don’t think, don’t think, don’t think, don’t think.
That was the mantra Bruce had running through his head as he hastily shoved some clothes into his duffel bag that he had acquired in a garbage bin. It was a little ironic in a way. It was something he used to repeat to himself as a little child, hidden deep within a closet or underneath furniture that seemed impossible to fit under, repeating that to himself as he used to hear cries and screams.
He’d gotten it from his mum, when she used to come retrieve him, some new blemish darkening her face. She used to cradle him as he worked on crying without making a sound, whispering, ‘Just don’t think on it, baby. Just don’t think.’
And here he was, thirty odd years later, doing what she had always told him too. He hadn’t listened to it for years, striving to learn and think as much as he could because he had been forced for so long to not seek out any knowledge he so badly craved. But now, when it came to … remembering … he just didn’t want to think.
He didn’t really know how long it had been since he’d woken up, the smoking remains of the Quinjet off in the distance. It had been long enough for him to find a small town in the back country of Fiji by the name of Sintanio. It was run-down, neglected and in dire need of some affordable medical assistance, but large enough to not draw too much attention to himself and for the news to travel of the stranger in town. He had ingratiated himself pretty quickly after making up a medicinal compound similar to a Penicillin shot when directed to a small science lab in the tiny building that was used for a school. It had been used for a young girl who had been fading fast with a fever. The compound was something that Bruce and T … it was something that had been invented.
It was why he was moving from the couple of sheets of tins he’d placed together to call a shack to a one-roomed house he was being given to run a doctor’s office from by one of the teachers at the school, after he witnessed what Bruce did for the child. The man, Nazil, had even moved as many doctoring supplies as possible to the makeshift doctor’s office. The items were left behind by visiting practitioners when they passed through, doing some humanitarian work or from when there had actually been a cheaper doctor in Sintanio, but he had up and left over six months ago.
Before Bruce went to his new house though, he decided to stop off at some small markets that ran the length of the main street of the town, hoping to pick up supplies he could use to make medicines with and maybe some food for himself.
While he hadn’t been paid for his services per se, he had quickly made himself a name through the place as the pay-if-you-can-but-if-you-can’t-it’s-okay doctor and many people gave him items at extremely low prices, or free altogether. While he hated taking charity, he really didn’t have much choice at the moment. His clothes, a huge, long-sleeved shirt and baggy tracksuit trousers that were held together with some rope, had been given to him by a kind old man who said his son lost weight, so Bruce could have the clothes.
The physicist had been more than grateful. While he had accumulated a couple of other shirts and even a regular pair of grey trousers, he wasn’t going to wear them until tomorrow, when he actually started treating people. While they weren’t classy dress by far, they were certainly better than what he was wearing.
By any luck, he might be taken for a beggar again and get some money to buy something as non-essential as clothes.
If T …
Don’t think, don’t think, don’t think, don’t think.
‘This one,’ Bruce said, maybe a little more forceful then necessary, but he talked to try to shove that thought away. If he went there, he would break down, no questions asked.
He had indicated to a herbal root at a market stall he was at, tongue still a little stilted on the language. It was one thing he discovered from his previous time on the run, that it was quite easy for him to pick up on languages. Not like he spoke each one fluently, but he could pick up on enough to get by in whatever country he was currently staying in.
Someone had once expressed such praise at hearing that fact.
He shook his head viciously to rip the thought from his conscious, causing the stall-holder, a stout, middle-aged woman, to look at him in concern.
Grinning sheepishly back, knowing he was blushing, he hastily handed over the money and grabbed the paper bag his purchase was in, all the while, refusing to raise his eyes from the items.
He hated this. He really did. Setting himself up, hiding in public while trying to appear normal while it was so painfully obvious that he wasn’t, at least to him anyway.
It was even more so this time for … no reason whatsoever. Yeah. No reason.
He quickly turned to go, but jumped back as a little figure raced in front of his path.
‘Tata!’ the little girl squealed, saying the Fijian word for Papa.
She was racing to a man who was on his knees, only a few feet up. It didn’t take her long to go flying into the laughing man’s arms and he wrapped her up in a fierce hug, making her feet leave the ground.
It was the patter of feet Bruce heard first followed by Clint’s fond words of, ‘Ah, incoming.’
Then, he spotted a boy with a wild mop of brown hair with a lighter-haired little girl with plaits, singing out, ‘Daddy!’
She was up in Clint’s arms in two seconds, the archer’s voice softer and more full of love than Bruce ever heard as he talked to them.
‘Ah, sweatheart.’ He cuddled the girl close in one arm while used the other to pull the boy to him, kissing him on top of his hair. ‘Hey, buddy, how you guys doin’?’
Bruce ran. He was very apt at it he found. Dodging around the stalls, slipping past the people, never colliding with one, intent on fleeing the memory that was making his eyes burn. His heart throbbed painfully, but it wasn’t from his mad dash.
It hurt more and more until he was gasping, though he knew he wasn’t close to the Other Guy emerging. His heart wasn’t speeding up. It just hurt to feel it. Especially when the image wouldn’t leave his mind, implanted in there like someone took a branding iron to his brain to torture him with memories.
He didn’t stop until he made it all the way to the outskirts of town, to the tiny little shack that was going to be his home. Running in through the door (door … what a lovely privilege), he slammed it shut behind him before falling back on it. He closed his eyes and began to breathe deeply, to the mantra in his brain, Don’t think, don’t think, don’t think, don’t think.
When he peered out of the cracked window later to see the same man with his daughter in his arms, he swore the image was sent to taunt him, but soon realised they were in the nice house about a mile up from his.
That was … great. Just great. Not like they reminded him of anybody or anything. Because that was all behind him now. Or, it wasn’t, like, he cared or anything. He was used to this. He could turn off. He knew how to make things fade from his mind until they were ghosts that were no longer real and only appeared when he was half-drunk with exhaustion and sitting up through the night, unable to sleep, no matter what.
When the image of a sarcastic man with stormy grey eyes threatened to take over his brain, he pinched himself so hard he bled.
***
Bruce liked the dark. Unlike most people, he found it beckoning, letting him sink into its shadows while holding others at arm’s length.
It was why he was out of his little house at one o’clock in the morning, walking the streets because the darkness around him was embracing him more than sleep at the moment.
Businesses and dingy terrace houses ran either side of the little back street he was currently on, old newspapers crinkling in the balmy wind. It was late, but the moon was bright with no numerous city lights and hardly any pollution to dim it so Bruce could easily see the pebbles on the ground he walked.
His shoes had long worn out and he was saving up to buy another pair when his patients could sometimes spare him a few dollars. So, for now, he was barefoot and even when he had shoes, he avoided wearing them outside business hours in fear they wouldn’t last as long. So, while every little stone dug into his skin, his feet were hardened now and he hardly felt anything more than a dull, numb pain with each footstep he took.
There were several thin alleyways, breaking off from the street, some filled with full bins, waiting for collection, others had old cars and one contained broken, wooden crates, waiting for someone to fix one for use or simply burn for warmth, though that wasn’t really needed for this weather.
Bruce stopped dead as the moonlight crept into one alleyway at the very end of the street, just before it broke off into a crossways. There, bathed in the grey light (truthfully, no colour looked dazzling to Bruce anymore. Silver was always grey or golden was always sickly yellow), was a woman.
He couldn’t see her face, but the way she slipped soundless in the shadows was familiar.
Technically, he should have run away, back to his house and grabbed his few belongings before disappearing again. However, he ran towards the figure, a hopeful cry of a name coming out in a breathless gasp.
Natasha held on to his shirt, but that didn’t stop him from just feeling her. She was so close that he could feel the almost nervous energy emanating off her, but her gaze was sure and unwavering. His vision was filled with her unique green eyes, an emotion embedded within them that he never thought would be directed at him ever again.
He didn’t understand. He truly didn’t. To want what she was proposing? With him? No, she wasn’t thinking clearly. For once, Natasha hadn’t taken in all the factors.
She was sure she was though, velvety voice wrapping around him, making him just want grab it and hold on to it somehow. He adored her voice, he adored her sense of humour … he adored her.
He couldn’t have it though. He knew that.
‘I’m running with it. With you. If … running’s the plan … we’ll as far as you want.’
However, when she looked up at him, that little quirk of her soft lips, showing her dimples, though the left was more prominent, he wanted it. More than anything.
Unable to stop himself, he’d gripped her hand, grounding him and her. To cement that she was real, that this wasn’t just something his brain dreamed up because he felt for her more than he had for any woman … even Betty. Natasha was someone that had bonded with all parts of him and able to calm that rage and fear, and make life suddenly seem bearable.
As he grasped her in such a gentle embrace, he was struck with how soft her face was. Everyone thought the Black Widow was indestructible and hard; maybe that was true, but Natasha Romanov wasn’t.
Then, suddenly, all he could fear was breaking Natasha Romanov. It haunted his thoughts, his very soul until he was almost trembling.
She just held him tighter and smiled up at him, comforting and … loving. Again, he couldn’t fathom why that was directed at him, but it was and that was almost as scary.
He closed his eyes momentarily to hide the heartbreak he could feel spilling out of his heart and on to his countenance. He could feel it all again. That resignation … the knowing what was coming … he could feel it burning in his bones. That he was more of a danger than an asset, something he’d always been aware of, but wanted to live in the dream Natasha talked about, where he was something more than the monster he always knew he was.
He couldn’t adequately describe how much he wanted it not to be so. For him to be able to hold Natasha, give her the love she deserved so much, but he knew how much better off she would be without him. And that hurt so badly that he just wanted to crawl underneath some furniture and cry silently.
Instead though, he just held on to her for a few brief, selfish seconds. He felt her very essence, what made Natasha so special and just Natasha flowing through the room and wrapping around him. He clung on to it as fiercely as he could.
It could be the very last time he felt it so he was going to cherish it with every part of him. Until he finally came to his senses, realising how he was torturing himself, what he was doing to her.
Reluctantly, he had to pull away. ‘Are you out of your mind?’ He asked softly.
What she was saying couldn’t happen. He wouldn’t allow it to because he wouldn’t allow for Natasha to be hurt in what just came with being him. With being the monster.
‘Natasha!’
His hopeful cry sounded foreign to him. The tone had been absent from his voice since disappearing into the ether again.
She spun around, shawl falling from her head, backing into the alleyway. Even in just moonlight, he could see that her eyes were huge with fear.
One minute, he had been light with hope. Now, he literally felt like he had been crushed and just wanted to crumple to the ground, too weak to hold himself, sucked of all his strength.
He tried to pretend for a few seconds. He knew how pathetic that truly made him. Maybe she had used make-up to make her nose look larger. Neglected to use lipstick to make her mouth not so large, was holding herself a different way so the beautiful angles of her face weren’t as prominent. Even used lenses to change the green colour of her irises that he would know anywhere. She was a spy, after all.
However, one thing that she wouldn’t be able to fake was just her aura. Natasha shone with a unique feel that emanated from her, strong, intelligent and specially perceptive, able to see not only underneath people’s facades, but deeper again, into their intentions of why they did acts. Was it truly kind or did they just want it to look like that? Natasha knew it all.
And Natasha was someone that had such a presence that he could feel her without ever touching her. She was paradoxically overwhelming and never enough. No matter what, Natasha could never lose that, didn’t matter how much she shifted into a new personality.
This woman had none of that. She wasn’t her. She was not Natasha Romanov. No matter how badly he selfishly wanted it to be.
He held up his hands, palm outwards. The movement was such an effort and he slumped against the greasy alley wall.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said softly, unable to get any volume. ‘I’m so sorry. I just … I just …’ he shook his head helplessly and his eyes burned so badly that his hands trembled, ‘I … thought, I wanted … I wanted …’
He realised what he was about to admit to. What had always been within him but he kept on shoving it underneath an exterior he thought he had built himself, but it wasn’t as strong as he thought it would be. Because the feelings of wanting and loneliness had slipped through, making his chest hurt, hurt and hurt. It was stronger than all the other times he’d run.
Suddenly, the pebbles were digging into his knees. He couldn’t stand, the crushing sensation weighing him down until he fell forward, head buried in his arms.
The quick thumping of feet showed the woman had fled, probably in fear of the crazy man having a breakdown in the middle of the street.
He didn’t care though. He couldn’t bring himself to.
‘I thought you were someone else,’ he whispered.
The confession disappeared into the night air like it had never been said.
No matter how many times that night he repeated his mantra, he couldn’t hide from the unique green eyes peering up at him, soft and adoring.
***
Between seeing a certain soldier in a young man helping an old lady crossing a road and a certain demigod in a stall-holder with long, yellow hair, Bruce thought he was going crazy.
He had gotten a job so he could keep treating people without money in between his work at a small factory which made paints, simply sweeping the floors. He had been avoiding it for a while. The scene was uncomfortably familiar to him and he wanted to leave as little paper trails as possible. But, he needed to live and he needed money to be able to help the people as best he could. He couldn’t make remedies if he didn’t have the dollars to purchase a simple herb or buy items to create make-shift scientific as well as medical equpiment.
He was currently at a dingy café, sitting on a crate outside the store while others took up the metal seating. A cup of coffee was cradled in his hand, the first he had splurged for since his plunge into poverty. He would have gone for tea, but he needed to be able to stay awake until late into the evening, when people would be coming to his little shack, after medical help they simply couldn’t afford.
The coffee wasn’t helping ease the tremble in his hands at the close proximity of all these people. He had become accustomed to be able to lock himself away for a bit, but after being around them for most of the day and now the afternoon, he was finding it overwhelming. All these faces looming over him, skimming over his shaggy figure like he didn’t exist while others would smile a bit, recognising him as the inverted doctor, who had showed up out of nowhere.
He closed his eyes momentarily, trying to will everything away while taking deep, practiced breaths. To simply breathe was so hard at the moment, because he always felt like he had a weight in his chest. Being slowly crushed from the inside.
‘Hey, big man, can I get you another cup of coffee?’
His eyes snapped open. His chest tightened and his breathing went haggard, all rhythm thrown out of the window. While he should have been seeing the bustling street with all the unfamiliar people passing him by, he didn’t see that at all. Instead, he saw the very visions he had buried deepest because he knew what they had the potential to do to him.
‘What’s the rumpus?’
He had never felt so relaxed and casual as he did, walking down those stairs with the man with twinkling chestnut brown eyes and gelled black hair.
As Tony began to launch into the explanation of what was within the sceptre, the thing he was most aware of was the casual arm slung over his shoulder. Like he was normal.
At that moment, he’d never felt more so.
‘No,’ he whispered, practically begging his brain to stop. Don’t think, don’t think, don’t think, don’t think.
The smash of his cup as it fell to the ground was nothing compared to the ringing in his ears.
‘You’re tip-toeing, big man. You need to strut.’
He smiled softly, appreciating the irony of the statement.
As he glanced back over at Tony though, it occurred to him that the engineer looked the farthest thing from joking as he pointed at Bruce with the item the engineer had buzzed him with, gaze intense and focused. As though willing him by look alone to believe in what Tony was saying.
Don’t think, don’t think, don’t think, don’t think.
He silently pleaded with himself, grimy fingers clutching at his hair, buried deep in the strands, as he shook his head from side to side.
‘Hey, are you okay?’
His vision flickered. For a moment, he could see a fuzzy figure leaning over him.
‘You don’t look so good. Can I help you, big man?’
‘SHUT UP!’
His scream was wretched as he stumbled away, but he couldn’t see again as the one memory that he had buried deep, deep within came surging to the surface, making him fall to his hands and knees.
‘ Ah, see. I don't get a suit of armour. I'm exposed, like a nerve. It's a nightmare.’
Truthfully, he didn’t know where those words came from. He didn’t talk to people that easily in general, let alone expressing what it felt like to be the Other Guy.
For some reason though, the words fell from his mouth, so natural. He waited, afraid if his admittance was a foolish idea, exposing himself for more hurt. It wouldn’t be the first time.
However, he was surprised or maybe … not surprised when Tony began talking, sharing with no mock or sarcasm directed at him, turning that intense gaze back on him, the one that made Bruce feel somehow … comforted. There was something in that expression that was … perhaps trusting. Of him.
It sounded crazy, but it was like he couldn’t ignore what he was seeing.
The engineer’s voice carried on, easy, gentle and drawing. ‘You know, I've got a cluster of shrapnel, trying every second to crawl its way into my heart.’ Tony’s fingers tapped on the arc reactor, more instinct than a conscious decision. ‘This stops it. This little circle of light. It's part of me now, not just armour. It's a ... terrible privilege.’
Bruce automatically closed off from that thinking. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe Tony. In fact, he wanted to straight away and that was what scared him.
‘But you can control it.’ This was logical. Wasn’t it?
‘Because I learned how.’
Tony wasn’t one to be deterred. Bruce could admire that about him, but that didn’t make what the engineer was saying right, no matter how bad Bruce wanted to.
‘It's different.’
He tried to dismiss it, turning away and hiding like he was used to. A comfort spot.
Again though, Tony wouldn’t stop and he found all the boxes sliding out from his fingers so the screen was clear.
And now, he was captured in that intense gaze and he had no choice, but to listen. For some reason, his heart beat hopefully, one part wanting to hear something wonderful, some sort of miracle that would make his life that bit more bearable, but his brain kept on trying to shut down that line of thought. Hope was pointless and hurt when taken in because it would only flee sooner or late.
‘Hey, I've read all about your accident. That much gamma exposure should have killed you.’
Bruce blinked at that one, brain working overtime.
‘So you're saying that the Hulk ... the Other Guy ... saved my life?’
Tony, for once, stayed silent and simply gave him that look where he let Bruce know that was exactly what he though.
He suddenly felt a bit bashful at what Tony was implying and he couldn’t resist fiddling with his hands. ‘That's nice. It's a nice sentiment.’ He glanced away, hating that this couldn’t be true. That this … terrible privilege, as Tony called it … could be just that. A privilege. He didn’t get that. Still though, he couldn’t resist asking, with just a dash of self-deprecation. ‘Saved it for what?’
Tony looked at him for a few more seconds and Bruce was suddenly struck with the gentleness in the engineer’s expression. It was a soft look, a type he hadn’t received in years and years. Something … slightly parental … though he felt crazy when it even slipped past his mind and he quickly shoved it aside. Really, he knew better than to think stupid things like that, like someone thought that much of him, especially in the first few hours of meeting someone, particularly when Tony knew about him, obviously quite well.
Easily, the engineer said with a little, knowing grin, ‘ I guess we'll find out.’
The genius walked off then, apparently satisfied he had made his point and won, tapping on a computer screen on the other side of the room.
Bruce found himself doing the same, in a bit of daze of what had just been implied and more than a tiny bit amused at the engineer’s antics. He liked Tony. Like, really liked him.
Still though, he felt he should give that warning shot, that one that reminded people who they were really dealing with because surely, Tony must have somehow forgotten, wrapped up too much in the situation to realise he was giving a pep talk to the guy that contained a monster when the engineer should have been working on better ways to contain him.
‘ You might not like that,’ he called softly.
The answer he got back absolutely floored him. ‘You just might.’
What did that matter? What he would like or not? What the hell did it matter? And Tony had said it so casually too like it was fact that his feelings should be taken into consideration.
There, in that lab in the Helicarrier, he was made feel like he was … something. By a bright-eyed engineer, who, against all odds, trusted him. No one had for such a long time. It was … overwhelming, but in a beautiful way, one that welled up through his chest and made him feel … actually kind of … content. That this person, who Bruce decided was simply wonderful and couldn’t help but admire as well as perhaps look up to instantly, could give that to him was just …
He couldn’t even put into words the pure emotions flooding him, for once, basically all good ones.
He didn’t really know what to do, what to say. To say thank you just sounded too little, too small for what was being given to him. And it was like Tony simultaneously knew and didn’t know on what he was doing for Bruce, by simply treating him like he could be something, like he was something, Other Guy and all.
From that point forward, he felt actually … happy. And, for the first time in forever … something.
He worked with Tony, enjoying every joke, every jab, every touch. It was foreign, strange … and he loved every minute of it.
Even though it had only been a few hours for him too, he couldn’t help, but throw his trust at this eccentric man and thought that Tony was just amazing.
The touch on his shoulder wrenched Bruce from his inner torture. Suddenly, it was all gone. His Tony’s face, voice and words. All gone. The casual touch Tony had given him, the one that was so brotherly affectionate to someone that didn’t deserve it at all, yet he got it.
This person, this touch … it was wrong. It was wrong.
The guy, an average size with easy hazel eyes, tanned skin and curly blonde hair, smiled down at him in concern.
‘You all right there, big man? Need a drink? Don’t want you to pass out on me.’ His grin widened. ‘That would really turn off the customers.’
Bruce paused in his meltdown at that. The words … were very familiar. A slight dark sense of humour meant to cheer him up and he found himself pathetically clinging on to it.
He really was a mess.
‘I … I …’ he whispered, eyes darting everywhere, trying to decide what to do, where to go.
The man raised his eyebrows. ‘Not the most articulate guy, are you?’
Bruce gasped softly at that. He couldn’t … he just couldn’t. He wanted to, but he was all too familiar where this path went.
‘I … I have to go,’ he mumbled, pushing himself up from the ground.
He stumbled wildly and the man went to grab his arm. ‘Whoa, take it easy there. You’re going to get yourself killed.’
‘I’m already dead,’ Bruce muttered in reply. He wanted to grab on. The touch was all wrong, but the words were semi-right and he just wanted something. Something of his old life back before his heart and brain ripped him apart from the inside. He missed it. God damn it, he missed it! He missed them all, the life they had created for themselves, where he was no longer defined by the whole world, but just the little one around him, which was all he ever wanted or needed.
Yet, he forced himself to shove off the grip on his arm and stumbled all the way back to his house in a delirium, forcing his heart rate down over and over again whenever a panic attack would take him over, making breathing so hard.
Whenever the attack faded though, he just felt wrenched open. So much so, that he curled up on the thin mattress on the floor and cried silently. He wasn’t allowed to sob until he made himself sick, because there was a haze of fear and anxiety threatening to swoop over him that would cause the Other Guy to burst forth.
***
Bruce knew he shouldn’t have gone back. He knew much better. But, the night had been horrendous, almost to the point where he thought he wouldn’t be able to keep control.
So, yeah, he had dragged his pathetic self back here after sweeping the factory, hovering in the back of the café that was practically empty.
The man from yesterday glanced up. It took a few seconds, but an unsure smile crossed his face. It wasn’t as warm and knowing as the one he was used to, but there was familiarity in it that he could hold on to. For the moment, that was enough and calmed his anxiety until it was a softer roar in the back of his head.
‘Hey,’ the guy said. ‘You don’t look too well, big man. How about a coffee? On the house?’
He shouldn’t have. He really shouldn’t have.
But he did.
He found out the man’s name was Matt. The man was over here as part of a year off from studying his PhD in education. He always wanted to come to Fiji so got a job with a friend that owned the café there so he could stay longer. His humour was dark, he was horrible at the language so often relied on heavy miming to get his point across so even when speaking English, tended to talk a lot with his hands.
Bruce just drank it all in, feeling calmer and happier than he had since … since he came here. For no reason whatsoever. Yep, no reason whatsoever.
Matt tried to get him to talk and all he could really say was, ‘I … try to help people.’
‘Looks like you could use some yourself,’ he’d said, a little on the blunt side too and Bruce loved that too. It was different, not as sarcastic, but it was something. ‘Don’t have anyone that can help you for a bit?’
Bruce didn’t know how to answer that so all he could do was fall into silence.
Matt had smiled, a bit in amusement, a bit in sorrow. An expression that was wrong for what Bruce was wanting and hoping for.
Still though, he came back the next day. And the next and the next and the next. The mad hand gestures, the smile with familiarity and the nickname was enough to keep him from having the crushing feeling nearly kill him each night.
Matt welcomed every day, spent his break chatting to him and even seemed to consider him a friend, though an extremely strange one that sometimes couldn’t articulate a sentence without rubbing his knuckles raw.
It was one day, after almost a month coming to the café after his work that Bruce really saw how much he was fooling himself.
He sat with Matt on the crates near the shop wall because Bruce felt safer when no one could creep up on his blind spot.
A customer had come and demanded that Matt serve him to make the wait time quicker. And Matt had just got up and done it, so submissive and pleasing.
Bruce blinked at that, watching as the taller man walked back into the café to do the job.
That was … wrong. Well … not wrong. But it wasn’t … wasn’t.
Wasn’t what Tony would do.
For the first time, he thought of the name without being forced to in a breakdown. And that let all the barriers down.
He was flooded with memories of his old life. The laughter, the teasing, the family. The people who trusted him, fought so hard to protect each other and became the reason he had gotten up every morning until he did it without even thinking about it.
He wanted his family back. That’s all. He just wanted his family back. More than anything in the whole world. Clint … Thor … Steve … Natasha, wonderful Natasha … and Tony. His Tony.
This person wasn’t his Tony. He’d known that, but he’d been desperate … sad … pathetic. He’d wanted that familiar smile, crinkle around the eyes and cheek that had become his family as they worked together in the labs, Tony poking him with one thing or another, smile teasing as though to say, ‘See? I told you right at the beginning, but you didn’t believe me then, did you? Did you? Now you see I’m right. I’m always right.’
Bruce wanted his big brother. The real one.
‘Big man?’
God, even hearing the nickname out of someone else’s mouth made him feel sick to his very stomach now. He glanced up and realised his vision was blurry.
Matt looked down at him, head to the side with concern. ‘You all right?’
Bruce gave a bitter laugh, voice cracking and rather than nodding, as he would have done several minutes ago, he shook his head. ‘No,’ he whispered. ‘No, I’m not. I haven’t been for months.’ He slowly wiped his face, knowing he would have left black marks across his face from his dirty hands. ‘But that’s okay. At least I’m not pretending anymore.’
Matt blinked in confusion. ‘I don’t follow.’
The physicist slowly stood up. He was tempted to give Matt’s arm a pat, but he couldn’t. No matter for how long he had been pretending, this wasn’t Tony. He would never be and it was an insult to his big brother’s memory that he had tried to make this other man so.
‘It’s okay,’ he said softly and handed his cup of coffee back to the waiter. ‘Thanks for the coffee, Matt.’ And, he had to add, ‘And for everything else.’
Because, while this person wasn’t who Bruce wanted him to be, he had been a friend when Bruce needed it most. And Bruce of all people knew how invaluable that was in a life that had been filled with friendless faces. And the five faces that had become more than friends he’d run from.
He walked away, hands deep in his ill-fitting trouser pockets, shoulders hunched against the people still milling about the streets.
Soon, his little cottage was in front of him and he slipped inside. While he didn’t have a phone, he had picked up little gadgets here and there. After a few years with Tony in the workshop, helping the engineer with one electrical device or another, he was more than aware how to make a phone.
His hands began doing it without him really consenting. He didn’t know if anyone came and knocked on his door in those hours into the night where he was forced to light a candle to continue. All he knew was that in the early hours of the morning, he had a fully-functioning phone on his table.
He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t.
Trying his mantra, for once, he said it out loud. ‘Don’t think, don’t think, don’t think, don’t think.’
It was impossible though. He had been an idiot to think he could escape his old life by just pretending it didn’t happen and building a few barriers around some memories. While he was an expert at outrunning some thoughts, there were just some that were too ingrained in his soul to ignore for too long.
They were his family. His family. He didn’t need figures similar to remind him of them. They were there each time he closed his eyes, reaching out to him, warm and welcoming.
Particularly one man that had given him something that no one else could: a home. And not just a physical place. One that was beside Tony, one where he was wanted, needed and just … loved.
Something he’d never had since … since Mum.
The tears were flowing strongly now and he choked on a few cries, wiping his nose with his filthy jacket.
He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. He was selfish for even wanting to.
Nothing he thought of though could stop him from dialling in that number. He needed to hear the right tone, right words, needed the right person. Otherwise he would go mad. Or completely dead inside to where he was nothing but a drooling idiot on the sidewalk, refusing to move because the crushing feeling hurt too much.
For a few painful seconds, it was like no one was going to pick up. Then, there was a click and Bruce covered his mouth, face crumbling as a familiar voice sounded over the line.
‘Who’s this? How’d you get my personal line? If it’s that hot girl from Morocco, I’m now taken. If it’s the head of SI in Alaska, I died in a lab fire and this is an automated recording. If it’s Jensen Ackles, I will consider letting you play me when they make my life story into a Blockbuster movie. You, along with Johnny Depp and Leonardo DiCaprio. If it’s any hot guys for Pepper, I have Iron Man armour and I’m not afraid to use.’
Against all odds and impossibilities, Bruce laughed. It was cracked and broken, but still. No one else in the world could get him to at the moment except that man on the other side of the phone.
‘Tony,’ he murmured and his crying got a little harder.
Suddenly, he felt a little terrified, heart rate speeding up, but not yet in the danger zone. What if Tony hung up on him? What if the engineer sneered in disgust at him, hurt at being run out on without even a goodbye and never want anything to do with him again? He really didn’t know what he would do if that was the case.
However, all his fears just disappeared as a soft gasp sounded down the phone, able to be heard despite the crackling line.
‘Bruce? Bruce, oh god, oh hell, you okay? Where are you, where … I’m coming to get you, just don’t do anything stupid all right? You tell me where you are and I’m coming to get you.’
Bruce closed his eyes, trying to stem off the guilt and the tears, but they both just grew in force until his whole body trembled. Tony still cared. After everything, Tony still cared for him, just like the genius had the first day they met on the Helicarrier.
‘T-Tony, I’m … I’m so sorry. I s-shouldn’t have … b-b-but … I … jeez, I missed you, T-Tones, I don’t … I didn’t know … I …’
‘Shush, shush,’ Tony’s soothing tones washed over Bruce and suddenly, he could get his breath back. ‘Breathe for me, big man.’
His eyes squeezed shut. That … that right there was how the nickname was said. So full of softness with just a hint of playful affection, coated in Tony’s distinct rollicking tones. Despite everything, his whole spirit just soared at that voice and suddenly, he wasn’t being crushed as hard as he had been for so, so long.
‘You breathing there, bud?’
Bruce couldn’t help himself and nodded, giving a raspy, ‘Yeah.’
‘Thatta boy, Brucie. Now, you don’t even have to worry about telling me where you are. FRIDAY already has the coordinates. Fiji, big man? Really? Thought India was more your scene. I mean, Bollywood. I could see you rocking Bollywood, but grass skirts? Questionable, Lima Bean. Very questionable.
Bruce gave another watery laugh, choking up at the familiar ramble. It simultaneously made him feel like anything could be fixed in his world again while made his chest absolutely ache that this had been missing from his life for too long.
‘Now, I’m in the suit and coming to you, all right? Should be there in a few, just keep talking to me. Sending a plane too, but I’m coming ahead.’
The guilt became overwhelming again. ‘Y-You d-don’t—’
‘If you say I don’t have to, short stuff, I’m grounding you for five years, not just one.’
A tiny smile was dragged to the surface, just as Bruce knew his big brother intended. ‘I’m grounded?’ He asked, trying to sound sarcastic, but he probably just came off as pathetic.
‘You better believe it. Science privileges limited too.’
Bruce’s laugh wasn’t as cracked this time round. ‘So I’m not allowed to work with you?’
There was a brief pause. ‘Well … maybe just the grounding.’
The joke that implied that he was still wanted close to the engineer was what finally tipped Bruce over the edge. He finally sobbed without holding back, the silence in the land around him making his cries sound deafening to him.
‘Aw, come on, my little science bro, you don’t need to cry. Iron Man’s coming! That usually makes people cheer. Unless it’s Rogers. I’m pretty sure he gives that groan, that you know, sounds like a dying hog?’
Bruce sniffled, trying to get the tears under control. ‘Yeah?’ he managed to choke out.
The voice was so soft and gentle that he could practically already feel the casual arm around his shoulders jostle him playfully. ‘Yeah, bud. You know what? I’ve been working on some pretty awesome stuff in the lab lately. Well, it’s me so it’s always awesome.’
This time, Bruce’s voice was strong as he nodded again. ‘Yeah.’
Tony launched into some of his experiments and soon, Bruce found his tears drying as he listened to the up and down cadence of the voice that always brought him such comfort until sun rays were beginning to permeate through his window.
The sound of thrusters had him flying from his seat and wrenching open the door.
There, only a few feet away from the house, stepping out his Iron Man armour, was Tony.
He spotted Bruce immediately and it was when the skin around the engineer’s eyes crinkled that Bruce knew he hadn’t been forgotten or the place he took up in Tony’s heart left and replaced.
Tony’s whole expression, which had initially been smiling, melted at the vision in front of him. His hair was wind-swept around his face and just looked so happily as well as painfully familiar.
‘There’s my favourite green rage monster!’ He called out, softness emanating from his voice.
With a broken sob, Bruce raced from the doorway and without inhibition, jumped into Tony’s wide open arms. He was caught in the embrace and his feet were lifted from the ground. He had never felt so safe as he buried his face into the familiar shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of grease, sawdust and vanilla cologne. He absolutely melted into the hold, putting all his trust in this person … in his big brother.
While he was tempted to think he was weak and pathetic again, being in Tony’s presence, he knew how much the engineer would hate for Bruce to think that and would tell him how wrong he was. And just being with Tony, he didn’t feel so weak and pathetic anymore. Just like always, Tony made him feel more content with who he was and that what he was wasn’t such a bad thing. In fact, according to the engineer, Tony often insisted he was special.
While Bruce could never bring himself to believe that, he could start to think that he wasn’t as pitiful as he had been believing.
‘That’s it, bud,’ Tony murmured, voice so much more real when it was right next to him. He felt like pinching himself, but never had he been able to recreate a vision this strong. Nothing could recreate Tony because he was one of a kind and just a life force that was so warm that it was practically tangible. ‘That’s it, let it all out. You’re okay now. I’m going to fix everything, all right?’
Bruce simply nodded, but wouldn’t relinquish his hold and was just so happy when Tony didn’t either, keeping him safe in his embrace. The touch was so familiar and what he had been craving since he had left, the touch that made him realise he was part of a family again and not just any. It was Tony’s and that was the biggest thing in the world to Bruce.
‘You’re doing great, big man. It’s been hard, huh? Don’t worry, I’m going to make it all better. You just wait and see. I’m going to get some good, proper food in you. By good and proper, I mean takeaway pizza. Then, get you cleaned up and into less hobo clothes, more … me.’ Bruce felt a calloused hand detach from the hold and stroke through his messy hair. ‘I’m taking you home, Bruce.’
Bruce burrowed further into his big brother’s embrace. All cries finally subsided and for the first time, he realised the crushing feeling had disappeared from his soul, making him feel light and inexplicably warm.
‘I’m already home,’ he whispered, letting his tired eyes slip shut and resting his head on Tony’s shoulder. Confident in his knowledge that Tony wasn’t going anywhere.