A/N - I have no freaking clue what I'm doing. You've been warned, .
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"Mr. Stark!"
Tony turns his attention back to Ms. Vincilli slowly and gives her a cocky grin.
"Yes, dear?"
The teacher doesn't rise to the bait, and sighs instead, rubbing her temples to ward off the impending 'Stark Headache.'
"Do you know the solution to the equation?" She asks, pointing to the calculus problem written out on the white board.
"I do," Tony says, nodding solemnly.
A long moment of silence passes while Ms. Vincilli stares at him expectantly.
"Well?" she says, finally.
"Well?" Tony repeats, giving her his most innocent look.
"Do you care to share the solution?" she asks, barely restraining reaching for her yardstick to smack the smug smile off Tony's face.
"Not particularly," Tony replies, waving his hand in an over-exaggerated gesture of boredom.
Behind him, his best friend Bruce groans and drops his head to his desk with a dull thud.
"Oh just go…" Ms. Vincilli begins, before catching herself and taking a deep breath, "just get out. Go see Principal Fury. And report back here at 2:30 for detention."
"Gladly," Tony says, standing and slinging his unopened backpack over one shoulder. "Until then, my darling!"
He glides out, shutting the door behind him with a loud click. Bruce warily makes eye contact with the teacher, mouthing an apology. She gives him a slight nod before calling him up to the board to solve the equation. Bruce moves with relief, glad to do anything to break the tension of the room after Tony's dramatic exit.
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Bruce escapes the classroom the second the final bell rings, immediately heading for the metal shop, knowing full well that Tony didn't report to Fury's office as instructed. He's so lost in his thoughts for a moment that he doesn't register the wall of muscle coming towards him until he's nearly knocked on his back.
He flails, preparing for the impact, but it doesn't come. He looks up and laughs as he sees who he's run into. It's Steve Rogers and Thor Odinson, football captain and quarterback, respectively. And more importantly, two of the only jocks in the school who have never given him a hard time.
"Sorry, guys," he says as he straightens up, "wasn't paying attention."
"Don't worry about it," Steve says, smiling easily.
"There is no harm done, Banner," Thor agrees, in a voice that is entirely too booming for a high school hallway.
"See you later," Bruce says as he begins to walk away.
"Fare thee well!" Thor calls out, grabbing Steve by the arm. "Come along, Captain. Rehearsal awaits!"
Bruce chuckles to himself as he walks. He's never quite gotten over the novelty of the two biggest jocks in the school also being in charge of the drama club.
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He finds Tony bent over one of the tables, blowtorching something with glee that he can see even through the protective face-mask. Their friend Clint is standing behind him, leaning against another table, watching the sparks through dark goggles.
Bruce nods to Clint, keeping quiet so he doesn't startle Tony while he's holding the blowtorch. Clint nods back, shifting over so that there's room against the table for Bruce to lean next to him. Bruce drops his backpack to the table before doing just that, accepting the pair of goggles that Clint produces.
It's several minutes before Tony finally turns off the fire and puts the blowtorch back in its safety holder.
"What are you making?" Bruce asks, peering at the cooling bits of metal with interest.
Tony turns around, surprised.
"When did you get here?" he asks, looking genuinely bewildered.
Bruce just laughs.
"A few minutes ago. By the way, you're late for detention. Ms. Vincilli is gonna kill you."
"She'll wait," Tony says, unconcerned. "What do you think, Barton?"
Clint moves forward, looking as closely as he can without touching the hot metal.
"Dude, she's gonna love them. Fuckin' awesome."
Bruce finally gets a good look at the project and he can't help but look shocked.
"Are those handcuffs?" he asks.
"Custom, engraved, damn near unbreakable, handcuffs," Tony correct him.
"You made Clint custom handcuffs…" Bruce trails off, pushing his glasses back up his nose.
"They're an anniversary gift for Tasha," Clint says, proudly.
"I shouldn't have asked," Bruce says, shaking his head.
"You need to get laid," Clint says, pushing off the table. "They'll be ready tomorrow?" he asks, Tony, who nods.
"Shit, it's almost three?" Tony says, suddenly, "Vincilli really will have my balls if I don't show up. Later, boys!"
He's gone so quickly that Bruce swears he actually saw the other boy blur.
"He's going to get expelled if he keeps getting detention," Bruce says as he and Clint head for the door.
To his surprise, Clint bursts out laughing, turning an impressive shade of pink as he does so.
"What?" he asks, waiting for Clint to start breathing again.
"Oh my god, you really don't know, do you?" Clint says, looking at him with incredulity.
Bruce just stares back.
"Ok," Clint says, slowly, "Ms. Vincilli is pretty hot, right? And pretty young?"
"Late twenties, I think," Bruce agrees, "And yeah, she's pretty. You think Tony is getting detention on purpose? Like he's got a crush on her or something?"
"Well, you're closer," Clint says, sounding impossibly amused. "You know, for someone with a genius I.Q., you're awfully dense sometimes. Ms. V. is hot, Tony is a whore, and charismatic as all hell. The bastard. Please, Banner, put two and two together."
It hits Bruce all at once, and he stops in his tracks, looking over at Clint with wide eyes.
"He's sleeping with Ms. Vincilli?"
"There we go!" Clint says, rolling his eyes. "Honestly, Banner. He's your best friend. Figured you'd know already."
"Guess he didn't want me judging him. Or ratting him out." Bruce says, but he looks overwhelmingly sad for a split-second.
"We all know you wouldn't do that," Clint says. "Come on, you need a ride home?"
"Yeah, thanks," Bruce says, shaking off his mood as best he can.
Bruce follows Clint out, thoughts whirring in his head.
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Bruce's mom is home when he gets there, perched precariously on the third level of a six level bookshelf in the living room, reaching up to dust the top of the shelf off.
He shakes his head fondly at her, tossing his backpack to the couch as he comes into the room.
"You really should use a stool or something," he says, mildly, knowing that she'll go right on doing things however she pleases.
"Hey, baby," she greets as she climbs down, "how was school?"
"Surprising," Bruce says, the honest answer coming out before he can stop it.
"Sounds juicy," his mom says, coming to sit on the floor across from him, cross-legged. "Spill!"
"Mom, no, come on," Bruce groans, "We're not supposed to be gossip buddies. I'm your kid, you're supposed to think I'm a no-good punk who never listens."
"And you're supposed to hate me," she replies, grinning up at him. "I guess we both fail at this. Now, come on, my day was boring, tell me what's going on."
Bruce hedges, knowing he shouldn't say anything, but it's bursting inside his chest with the effort of keeping it in.
"One of the teachers is sleeping with one of the students," he says, settling on the vaguest possible explanation.
"Oh…" his mother says slowly, "yeah, you probably shouldn't have told me that. Damn it."
"Please don't tell anyone," Bruce begs, fixing his soft brown gaze onto his mother's matching one.
"Just please tell me that this girl is 18," she says, groaning.
"He is," Bruce says, absently.
And then it clicks, realization spreading across her face.
"Oh, babe, it's Tony, isn't it?"
Bruce just shrugs, not confirming or denying.
"I wish I could say I was surprised," she says, getting up and relocating on the couch next to him, before wrapping an arm around his shoulders and resting her head on his shoulder.
"You need to talk to that boy," she says, "Tell him how you feel."
That startles Bruce, and he jerks away before staring at her in surprise.
"What do you mean? I don't feel any…I'm not… it's not…"
"Baby, I love you, but you're a horrible liar. There's no need to lie about this, I promise."
Bruce looks up from his lap, searching his mother's face for any hint of disgust or anger. He finds only the love and slight amusement that's always present.
"You wouldn't hate me if I was… if I liked guys, too?" he asks, forcing the words out around his constricting throat.
She smiles at him, almost sadly, before ruffling the mop of curls on his head.
"It wouldn't change a damn thing," she says, flicking his ear before settling her hands back on her lap.
Bruce leans back against the couch, closing his eyes, relieved but still conflicted.
His mother, using what he can only assume are special mom psychic powers, leans back next to him and bumps her shoulder into his.
"He won't hate you, either," she says. "Trust me."
"I do," Bruce says, letting himself take childhood comfort in his mother petting his hair as they rest in comfortable silence.
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Bruce's phone wakes him up far too early for a Saturday morning, even if it is already 10AM. He blinks at the name on the screen in confusion for a moment before answering it.
"Pepper?" he asks, not even sure when they'd exchanged numbers.
"You need to come get him," she says, without preamble.
He doesn't need to ask who she means.
"He's your boyfriend," he says, instead, only a little petulantly.
"Bruce, we broke up months ago. Not that he remembered that last night when he showed up at 3AM, high as a kite and missing his shoes."
"Jesus," Bruce says, sitting up and feeling for his glasses. "Is he alright?"
"He'll be fine," she says, and he's glad to hear that she sounds relieved. At least she still cares. Which is more than Bruce can say for most of Tony's exes. "But my parents are going to be home in less than an hour, and I might be 18, but they will still murder me if they find him lying on my floor."
"Alright. Let me see if I can borrow my mom's car. I'll be there soon. Text me your address."
He hangs up before she can reply, sleepiness short-circuiting manners for the moment.
A few minutes later, he's on the road, two travel mugs of coffee in the console.
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Luckily, Tony's conscious by the time he gets there, and he doesn't struggle when Bruce helps him to the car. He's silent, but reaches for one of the coffee mugs automatically, chugging it with alarming speed.
"You want to talk about it?" Bruce asks, once they've been on the road for a few minutes.
Tony shakes his head and turns to look out the window, Bruce's dark sunglasses over his eyes.
Bruce can't help it, he reaches out and brushes his thumb across Tony's cheek, noting the new bruise there.
"You can't keep doing this," he says, so softly that he wonders if it was even aloud.
The silence stretches so long that he's almost convinced it was in his head, but Tony finally speaks up, his voice raw and barely audible.
"I know."
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Tony hides at Bruce's house all weekend, letting Bruce and his mother order him around. He helps Bruce clean the yard, and in a surprising gesture, helps Bruce's mom make dinner each night.
Bruce watches him then, smiling as Tony waits for instruction, bright yellow apron tied over his expensive clothes. It occurs to Bruce that he's never really seen Tony interact with a woman without excessive flirting and inappropriateness before now. But he's not like that with Bruce's mother. He towers over her five foot two frame, and outweighs her by at least fifty pounds, but he looks at her like she's some kind of hero. Then again, Bruce supposes, she kind of is. She saved them, after all, even if he tries not to think about that anymore.
"Quit staring and set the table," his mom instructs, and Bruce shakes out of his thoughts, rolling his eyes as he does what he's told.
Monday comes all too soon.
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"Holy shit," Tony says as they walk into the cafeteria at lunchtime.
"Wha…" Bruce starts before realizing what Tony is staring at, "Is that Thor's little brother?"
"Loki," Tony confirms, "And wow, he's not so little anymore."
"I think they're actually the same age," Bruce notes, studying the tall teenager, "he's adopted. But I thought he got sent off to boarding school years ago."
"Guess it didn't take," Tony says, finally pulling his gaze away. "Come on, Clint and Nat are waiting for us."
Bruce follows him, glancing back to see Thor suddenly next to Loki, one arm slung companionable around his neck, wide grin on his face. Loki looks less than pleased. For a brief second, he locks eyes with Bruce, and a chill runs down his spine.
He's not sure why, but he knows Loki's return is going to cause all kinds of trouble.
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TBC