Chapter Text
It was 3:12 in the morning according to the digital clock on the wall of his room, and Bruce rubbed his eyes, unable to sleep. He could hear the banging of metal and a whispered cuss word through the vents every so often, his room directly above Tony's lab. Grumbling to himself about stupid stupidly attractive geniuses and their not sleeping and making too much noise, he tiptoed down the steps, carefully peeking through the bars of the railing to see just what Tony was doing. There were parts absolutely everywhere, washers and sheet metal spread out all over the crowded work tables, blueprints and papers all crumpled up; some lying on the floor, some tacked to his giant whiteboard. That hadn't been missed either, apparently, seeing as there were multicolored scribbles all over it, in Tony's boyish scrawl.
Bruce smiled slightly, pushing his glasses up on his nose and taking some joy out of seeing Tony in his element and completely alone. His eyes were constantly flicking around, lips muttering a steam of either curse words or commands for JARVIS (he thought, Mr. Paranoid had the walls soundproofed "just in case".. but not the ceiling. Hence what woke him up.)
He stood, joints cracking loudly, reaching up to tap on the glass tentatively. That was another thing: nobody got keys to the big lab in the basement except Tony. Not even Bruce, whom Barton had proclaimed Tony's "Science Bro" with a little bit too much satisfaction.
Tony's head snapped up immediately, his eyes going wide with alarm, dropping a wrench in his foot. Hopping on one leg toward the door and muttering the whole way, he pressed the intercom button.
"What're you doing up, Mr. Go To Sleep At A Healthy Hour or I'll Kill You All?" He said from behind the glass, holding the wrench half threateningly.
Bruce fought the urge to roll his eyes, and calmly replied "I thought you might want to talk to me instead of JARVIS."
"JARVIS doesn't make fun of my sleeping habits or constantly fix my hair."
He really needed to stop bringing the hair thing up, the whole team did. It wasn't his fault Tony's hair was constantly sticking up in little messy spikes, oil and grease and gods knows what else stuck in it. He just had to keep fixing it, it bothered him when it kept getting into his eyes. Tony had threatened to cut off all his curls in his sleep if he didn't stop, but Bruce cheerfully ignored that threat.
"JARVIS can't tell you that the formula on the whiteboard is wrong," he said smugly, nodding toward the board. Tony buzzed him in right away, looking in shock at the jumbled mess of numbers and letters.
"It is not! I spent a whole 15 minutes on that baby! I even had to go back and correct it."
Bruce ignored him, walking toward the board. "Your variable didn't change correctly here," he said, reaching up and tapping the mistake with his finger. "See?"
Tony stood in front of the board and examined it, looking completely like a mad scientist with his crazy hair and sleep deprived expression. "You and I both know I'm right," he said, shooting him a look.
"It got you to let me in," said Bruce with a smile, turning away from the board and walking toward the tables. "Otherwise you wouldn't have. You're an independent worker."
Tony shrugged and nodded, supposing he was right in two ways: one, he did prefer working alone, but two; he really did get kind of lonely.
"This looks complicated," Bruce remarked, toying with a spring attached to some outrageous contraption.
"Wait-don't touch that!" Tony yelped, already reaching for it, but there was a loud POP! and a shower of sparks erupted from the machine.
Bruce sat back in surprise, Tony pressing buttons until the fire was gone. "Does something always have to explode?" He asked lightly, a joking light in his eyes.
"You make it sound like I make things burst into flames for fun," Tony muttered away from him, tinkering with some other toy.
He got up and crossed the floor, sitting on a stool next to the genius himself. "When's the last time you slept?" He asked, not so jokingly this time. "And I don't mean falling asleep on your blueprints or crashing for an hour on the floor in here. I mean real sleep."
Tony didn't look up, and in the harsh fluorescent light Bruce could see how ragged he looked, from the deep purple circles under his eyes to the way his hands were shaking slightly. "Or eaten?" He continued, picking up a few day old cup of instant coffee, flinging it into the trash.
"Listen to me, Tony. Please."
He reached over and touched Tony's wrist gently, gasping slightly when he flinched away. "I can't sleep," he said in a hollow voice, staring blankly ahead. "I can't sleep and when I do it's full of nightmares and evil and-and this is more productive, anyway. Freedom never takes a holiday and shit."
"That's what Cap's for," he said, forcing himself to laugh a little bit.
"Ha ha," Tony grumbled. "Star Spangled sonofabitch."
Raising an eyebrow curiously, Bruce leaned toward Tony and watched his hands work (totally not fascinated by them, nope) as he waited for a explanation. "Always so," he stopped, waving the wrench in the air as he searched for a word. "God damned chipper all the time. It's awful. Doesn't he have a off switch under all that Good Old Fashioned Charm?"
"Nice proper nouns," he observed, Tony rolling his eyes. "Whatever, Banner. Nobody invited you to the complaining party."
"I didn't think you were complaining."
"You like the Captain."
"Everyone does," he admitted shyly. "But I don't think you want everyone to like you, do you? That's not why you dislike him."
Tony paused for a moment, a flash of something in his eyes, then resumed tapping lamely at a piece of metal with a hammer.
"I'm wearing his t-shirt," Tony said suddenly, looking down. Damn sure enough, there it was, a picture of the Captain America Shield. "Oh, lord jesus. What has the world come to."
"Tony," Bruce said warningly. "Be nice."
"I'm always nice," he snarked back, gritting his teeth slightly.
"Go to sleep. Come on. Please."
At the mention of sleep, Tony's shoulders slumped slightly, his eyes almost drifting closed right there. "Can't sleep," he mumbled, stumbling away from the table.
"Couch you go," Bruce said quietly, taking his shoulders and gently steering him toward the large leather couch in the corner. He was asleep before Bruce even came back with a blanket, covering him as gently as he could.
He decided it wasn't a good idea to leave, yawning and curling up at the other end of the couch.
And that is how the Avengers woke up to the picture of Bruce and Tony still fast asleep on the couch at noon the next day, each one heavily documenting it on their phones for the best blackmail they'd had in ages. It was also how Bruce got a set of keys left outside his door, knowing immediately what they were.
"I knew it!" Clint shouted triumphantly, throwing a fist in the air. "They are so cuddle buddies."
Natasha decided to ignore the fact that Clint Barton, assassin extraordinaire, had just said cuddle buddies, and continued to film through the glass.
~