"What a smart boy you have!" One of Brian Banner's colleagues gushed. His father was hosting a dinner party for some of his work friends, and Bruce had been the object of much praise throughout the night. His mother looked on with a smile, clearly enjoying herself and the positive attention bestowed on her son. One look from his father was all it took though, and the smile fell right off her face, replaced with a mask of normalcy, under which Bruce could see the fear and worry.

"Yes, I have quite a son." His father's hand dug painfully into his shoulder, and Bruce knew the true meaning of his father's words. His teachers called him a child prodigy, but Bruce knew the truth. His father was right, he was a freak, a mutant who didn't deserve kindness or praise.


Bruce is in his lab, working diligently and oblivious to the outside world when Tony approaches him and taps him on the shoulder. Bruce flinches violently, not having noticed Tony's presence.

"Sorry," Bruce apologizes, looking at the floor. His face is slightly flushed and he's twisting his hands in a nervous manner.

"Hey, you didn't do anything wrong." Tony seems concerned, but Bruce manages to suitably redirect the conversation.


His sides throbbed in a painful reminder of his father's rage. He wasn't sure what had caused his father to lash out this time. It could have been anything-Bruce didn't finish his chores perfectly, or he said something that angered his father, or, more likely, it was simply pure, uncontained hatred. Bruce was used to the pain though, and knew how to effectively hide it. His teachers had no idea what went on behind closed doors and Bruce wanted to keep it that way.


It's a Thursday night, and the Avengers are all at Stark Tower. Bruce is reading a physics journal, engrossed in the description of dark matter. He doesn't notice Tony coming up behind him.

"We're about to start a movie," Tony says as he claps his hands down on Bruce's shoulders. Bruce flinches, and then curls in on himself slightly, as if protecting his body from some adversary. A few seconds pass and he realizes it's just Tony.

"Sorry." Bruce sighs and runs a hand over his face.

"Stop apologizing." Tony takes a step back, trying to give Bruce some space. "Come on, there's popcorn."


Bruce looked on in horror as his father pushed his mom against the wall, hands wrapped tight around her neck. He rushed forward, grabbing onto one of his father's arms, trying to wrench him away. It was no use though, Bruce was just a child, nowhere near as strong as his father.

Eventually his father let go. Bruce watched as his mom collapsed onto the floor. It was his fault. His mom had been trying to stop his father from hurting him, but Brian only changed the target of his rage, and instead went after Rebecca.

His mom wore scarves for the next two weeks to cover the finger-shaped bruises. She couldn't hide the hoarseness of her voice though, and for the most part stayed shut in her room, unable to face the world and its questioning glances.


Bruce can barely hear himself think. Thor is yelling-roaring, really-and Tony is trying to calm him down.

"You do not understand!" Thor takes a step towards Bruce, and all of the sudden Bruce can't breathe. Thor is in his space, is still yelling, but Bruce can't hear him. Thor raises a hand and Bruce acts without thinking, pushing himself back against the wall and bringing an arm up to shield his face. He's 10 years old, helpless and terrified. He screws his eyes shut in anticipation of the blows to come. Nothing happens.

The yelling has stopped. Bruce doesn't move.

"Hey, Bruce. It's okay." A voice manages to penetrate the fear, and Bruce counts to ten before slowly lowering his arm and looking around. The room is empty now, save for him and Tony. He's in Stark Tower, and his father is not here. He repeats this to himself several times until his breathing starts to even out.

"I told them all to leave, it's just you and me, they won't come back in." Bruce nods his understanding. He rubs a hand over his face and realizes his mask has effectively fallen. He'd been so careful to construct an unnoticeable facade, a protective layer under which his skin lay raw and red. But now there was no pretending; everyone knew, could easily see, that something was wrong.

All of the sudden it's too much. He slides down the wall into a heap on the floor.