Chapter Text
Prologue
Sunnydale is quiet at night. Despite the fact that the town is built on a Hellmouth, the everyday residents go about their business with minimal concern.
Mr. Carson walks his dog Ruffy under the street lights, the moon shining high over head. It’s late, but peaceful. The air is cool and clean. Mr. Carson loves living in upper New York State. He loves the scent of pine that drifted on the breeze, and doesn’t miss the bustle of New York City. His dog pauses to investigate a patch of grass, and Mr. Carson takes a long, deep breath. He smiles.
Ruffy’s a new dog, just a puppy. He’s six months old and all gangly limbs. His daughter Melissa had bought him off a friend, and then realized he was far too big for her small, one-bedroom apartment.
Mr. Carson had been disappointed in her. He thought he’d taught her better than that; New York was no place for a dog. Melissa had responded by saying that he should take Ruffy – he had the space, she argued, and the yard. Mr. Carson hadn’t agreed. Melissa had ignored him and dropped the dog off with a bow around its neck.
Mrs. Carson had laughed.
Mr. Carson was now hopelessly in love with the thing. Ruffy was small for a labrador retriever, obviously the runt of the litter, but he had spirit.
He’s in fine form tonight, wagging his tail as he pulls ahead. Mr. Carson has been training him, but he’ll be the first to admit he’s giving the dog too much lead. He likes to watch Ruffy explore, though – the Lord knows he can’t explore himself anymore, not with the state of his knees.
It’s normal for Ruffy to pause in his walk, to dig at the dirt or sniff the pavement. As they turn the corner onto Rivello Drive, though, Ruffy stops. His head comes up and his tail goes stiff. He growls low in his throat.
Mr. Carson looks at him with concern. “You okay there, boy?”
Ruffy doesn’t answer. He doesn’t even look back at his master. He is staring straight ahead, his eyes tracking something Mr. Carson can’t see.
Mr. Carson waits on the sidewalk. He peers into the darkness. Finally he shrugs and pulls on Ruffy’s leash.
“There’s nothing there. Come on.”
Ruffy won’t move forward though. He plants his little legs and growls again.
Mr. Carson thinks of snakes. He thinks of deer and coyotes, and other predators at night. He shivers, suddenly cold.
“Okay, boy. Okay. Let’s go home.”
He turns around.
This time, Ruffy follows him. His tail is still straight and his ears are up, but he goes. He follows his master home, nose sniffing cautiously at the air. After half a block, he relaxes. Ruffy bounds forward again, sniffing at the grass. He doesn’t growl again.
Mr. Caron starts to hum. He never could carry a tune. By the time he arrives home, he’s put the incident from his mind.
Chapter One
School is absolutely un-cool. Clint doesn’t know what he was thinking.
“I could get a job at a burger joint.”
“No.”
“It’s not like Tony’s charging me rent.”
“No.”
“I don’t actually need my SATs.”
Fury pauses shelving books and scowls at him. “You are not quitting school, Barton. You are getting an education and you are writing your SATs.”
Clint groans at his watcher. “But why? It’s not like I’m going to need them. Vampire slayer, remember? I’m not gonna have time to hold down a job.”
Fury raises an eyebrow. “If you believe that, then why are you offering to find work at Double-Meat?”
Clint sticks out his tongue and flops back into his chair around the library table. “I thought sounding adult would make you listen to me.”
“Clint, you are sticking out your tongue and whining about school; nothing you say right now is going to sound adult.”
Clint rolls his eyes and fishes Hamlet out of his backpack. He looks towards the library doors as Tony walks in, loud as always.
“Hello gorgeous people – Clint, Steve, Fury,” Tony nods at each of them. Steve, sitting beside Clint at the table, looks up and smiles.
“What is everyone doing today?”
“Trying not to flunk English,” Clint says despondently, flipping open his text. “I really hate school.”
“It is a new experience for you,” Tony teases. Clint rolls his eyes and regrets telling his friends he used to live in a circus. “I can understand that it’ll take a little getting used to. But take it from the guy who failed out of MIT.” He tosses his sunglasses at Clint, who catches them without looking. “This is nothing.”
Clint perches the sunglasses on his head. “Sitwell’s a pushover, huh?”
“Sitwell’s an okay guy,” Tony says with a shrug. He ignores the chairs and jumps onto the table. “It’s Miss Carter you have to watch out for; she’s awesome and everything, but she expects you to try.”
“It that part you have a problem with, Tony?” Steve asks with a smile.
“It’s the trying in history part that I have a problem with,” Tony corrects, but he grins. Clint knows it’s rare these days to hear Steve tease. “Her class on computers I actually enjoy.”
“You already know everything she teaches in the class on computers,” Clint says with a roll of his eyes. “You just sit there and code why the rest of us work. How’s JARVIS coming, anyway?”
“I’ve almost got him uploaded to the Mansion,” Tony tells him. “There’s a few lingering bugs in the old systems – my dad’s tech is giving me headaches. I’ll have him up and running soon enough.”
“That’s good.” Clint takes off the glasses and tosses them to Tony. “I’ll have someone to talk to when you’re lost for hours in your lab.”
Tony opens his mouth to protest, but Steve beats him to it. “Talking about working for hours in the lab, do you guys know what’s up with Bruce?”
“Banner?” Clint asks, surprised. He shakes his head. “I don’t know him that well yet. Tony?”
Tony looks concerned. “I don’t know. I’m worried about him.” He hesitates, fiddles with his glasses, and then slips them into a pocket.
“Bruce – well, he’s got it rough. He’s always hanging around school, using the chemistry lab after hours. He’s a genius with molecules – I tried to get him to apply to MIT the same time I did, but he didn’t want to. He wouldn’t leave his mom.”
Clint frowns. “He’s that smart and he’s using the high school chem lab?”
Tony runs a hand through his perpetually dishevelled hair. “Yeah. When MIT didn’t work, I offered him a room at the Mansion. This is years before I acquired your lazy ass, Barton.” He grins, and Clint throws a pencil at his face. Tony ducks. “But he wouldn’t do it.”
“His mom?” Steve guesses.
Tony nods. “Yeah. His dad…” he breaks off, looking away. “Well, you know.”
“I don’t,” Clint says, sitting up. “His dad’s bad news?”
Steve nods. “The worst. He showed up the school once, years ago. Grade six, or something. Practically dragged Bruce out of class. We could hear Mr. Banner screaming at him, all the way to the car.”
“I used to swing by his house sometimes,” Tony says, “before I realized I was making things worse. He’s a drunk. He was a smart guy before he got fired, but since then…” Tony trails off.
Clint nods. His own father was a drunk, and a bully. Clint doesn’t remember him much anymore, except in nightmares that come without warning. He knows his dad used to hit him, and Barney and his mom. His parents had been killed years ago, when the car his father had been driving had run into a tree. It was the accident that sent him and Barney to the orphanage, and from there to the circus.
“You think things have been bad at home because he’s been spending more time in the lab?”
Tony shrugs. “I don’t know. I tried asking him about it, but he brushed me off. That’s not like him. Bruce is a pretty cool guy, despite everything. We’re usually super close.”
“He was at the Bronx last month, when the vampires attacked,” Clint points out. “It could be this is his way of dealing.”
“We all have our ways of dealing,” Steve agrees, softly. He bends his head over his textbook, hiding his face. “But if that’s what Bruce is doing, it isn’t healthy.”
“I know,” Tony says, sighing. He jumps off the table. “I’ll try to talk to him again about it.”
“No, let me,” Clint says. He stands up. “I get it – both the vampires and the crappy father thing.” Tony and Steve look at him. Clint shrugs, deflecting the question. He may have told his friends about the circus, but he hadn’t told them everything. “I’ll catch him after school; see if I can find out what’s bothering him.”
“Yeah,” Tony says. “Because you’re so subtle, Barton.”
“I can be subtle!”
“As a train,” Tony teases.
Clint throws another pencil at him. He grabs his books and stuffs Hamlet back into his bag. The bag, and the pencils, had come from Tony. “Steve’s got a free period now, but I’ve got to head back to class. I’ll try to catch Bruce later.”
Clint leaves the library with a wave to Fury, who's stocking the rear shelves. He slinks into English class just as the bell rings, and takes a seat in the back. He tries to look interested, but everything that comes out of the teachers mouth sounds like gobblety-gook. Even Clint knows that Hamlet is a ridiculously well known play, but he can’t make heads or tails of it.
After a half an hour, Clint gives up on learning. Bruce is in the class with him and Clint concentrates on him instead, watching Bruce out of the corner of his eye. Now that he’s looking, Clint can see that Tony and Steve are right – Bruce doesn’t look good. He’s tired, with deep purple bruises under both eyes. His hands shake when they’re at his side, but as soon as he lifts a pencil they still. Clint can’t make out most of Bruce’s scribbles from here, but he’s pretty sure the man is writing chemical formulas instead of notes on English.
What really catches Clint’s attention, though, is how twitchy Bruce is. He glances up around the classroom a half-dozen times a minute; quick, flashing looks that mark the position of everyone in the room. Clint doesn’t want to, but he recognizes the signs – Bruce is used to being hunted.
Clint understands. He still can’t bear to sit with his back to the door. He notices that Bruce has chosen a seat near the rear corner much like Clint has, where he can see the windows, the door, and most of the students with a glance
Clint swallows past the memories that rise in his mind. This isn’t about him right now – this is about Bruce. Clint is free and living with Tony; Tony who’s got an absent father, but who's never had to watch his back the way Bruce and Clint have.
After class, Clint follows Bruce to his locker. He makes sure to stay within the man’s peripheral vision. He doesn’t want Bruce to think he’s sneaking up on him.
Bruce's shoulders tense, so Clint knows he's noticed him. He slams his locker door shut and turns to face Clint. “What?!” he demands.
From this close, Clint can see how bloodshot Bruce’s eyes are. “Hey,” Clint says.
Bruce just waits, watching him.
Clint feels suddenly nervous. “I realize we’ve never been properly introduced. I mean, I’m living with Tony, and Tony’s your friend, and we should…” Clint shuts up and sticks out his hand. “Hi,” he says, trying to start over. “I’m Clint Barton.”
Bruce doesn’t shake his hand, but he doesn’t roll his eyes, either. Instead he waits, staring at Clint.
Clint swallows and lets his hand drop to the floor. “Um… well, I just wanted to say hi, which I’ve done, and. Listen.” Clint rubs a hand over his face. “Tony is worried about you. He’s noticed you’re spending more time in the school lab, and everyone can see you’re not sleeping. He’s your friend Bruce – and I’m his friend, and, well – we’re worried.”
A muscle in Bruce’s jaw twitches. “I’m fine.”
“You say that,” Clint agrees, putting up his hands. “But you don’t look fine. I just –” Clint swallows. He lowers his voice. “I grew up with difficult parents too, okay? I can help.”
Bruce’s face twists in anger. “You can’t help. No one can help! Not the police, not you, and definitely not Tony. I’m the only one who can do anything. I’m going to take care of this, Clint. Soon. When I’m strong enough to do what needs to be done.”
Clint stares at him. “Bruce…” he tries.
“Leave me alone,” Bruce spits. He turns and walks away.
Clint watches him go. He opens his mouth to say something, anything, but no words come.
Bruce is right – Clint can’t really do anything. He could go over there and scare Mr. Banner a little, but he knows from his own experience that it’ll do more harm that good. Bruce’s dad’ll back off maybe, for a couple of days, but then it’ll start all over again.
Bruce needs to leave – him and his mom both. But from what Tony says, she won’t go, and Bruce can’t make her. It sounds like he’s going to stay and try to fix things on his own.
Clint sighs. Bruce is probably hitting the gym, trying to work out a little. He’s probably trying to build his strength and his confidence, but it won’t be enough. Bruce is a little guy – he’s not Steve, but he’s smaller than Clint. He won’t be able to protect his mother.
Clint hitches his own backpack higher on his shoulder. He’ll swing by the Banners place after school and do a little snooping around. Maybe he can find something to get Bruce’s dad put away for a couple of year. That would be something.