Born at home prematurely, Bruce Banner, was rushed to the hospital just after entering the world at home one crisp Autumn day. He was weighed in at a whopping 310 grams (10.9 ounces). Though, as fate would have it, his struggle into this world would surely not be his last. The first day of his life, Bruce was diagnosed with a congenital heart defect making his life thus far, for a lack of a better word, difficult. However, he was sent home a month after being released from the hospital, with two loving parents, who in turn, loved each other, as they did their son. Baby Bruce was welcomed into a comfortable little oak wood crib, his tiny wiggling form all wrapped up in blue cotton blankets. With his health problems sky rocketing, Bruce had become a hand-full during his early stages of infancy. It had taken the Banner family several hundreds of dollars, and even an extra job for each dedicated parent, to keep their frail baby alive and well. Even so the wedded couple knew deep down that their beloved child would be worth every small penny, and all strenuous efforts that were made.

Over time, Bruce grew up to be an over-all healthy and chubby boy, gaining over 20 pounds in total by the age of 6. Unbeknownst to him, his life would continue to be filled with hard-times and sorrow. Nothing had ever seemed easy, but as far as he knew, that was the way it should be. And for a family that loved each other, any hard-ships were easy hurdles to surmount. At that time, he remembered his mothers smile, how her bright doe eyes twinkled whenever Brian kissed and held her, then his father, a military man, who had even cared and loved him, always treated him with much faith and compassion like Bruce was his world. Back then he never knew what he would be missing. He had enjoyed everything, and lived as any other child should be able to. He had been naive up until the day he made a mistake that wasn't truly his own. A mistake that changed his life forever and made the boy he used to be, seem like a fairy tale that was just too good to be true.

Screaming.

A rough hand keeping him from flying away.

The sound of the wheels moving, and rubber burning.

The hand that is a vice on his consciousness.

And a scream that pushes adrenaline thought his veins.

Ice water, the pain.

Glass shattering under immense pressure around him.

Eyes flash with fear.

The last thing he sees.

Her cold face.

Then he remembers nothing but the darkness.

There is the numbing, the burning cold.

He's afraid of the black, oozing color from his eyes, as it shrouds his very existence into blank absence.

Then the nothingness absolute and fierce, raging dark, swallowing him and devouring.

Biting his skin.

"I can't see. Mommy where are you, I can't see... please help me, make it go away."

And he remembers... that it was all his fault.

He likes that he can cry whenever waking up from a dream, it's the only time he'll actually grant himself an ability to feel, because expression is a privilege he has not earned in so long. He doesn't realize how the images have begun to fade with every night he has these terrors, in the time he wakes, all color is gone and he's back with that lonely ache and no hope. A broken boy, a hole in his heart. He's defective, his ghastly like recreancy is crippling to the eyes.

Wanting to evade any possibility of the man who was his father, being alerted by his pathetic sniveling, Bruce has to force himself to calm down. It's so hard, no one could understand that, by now after so much self-suppression, his tremors can become so easily extensive and wild once finally released, and given the freedom to break. Like an earth quake he barely feels it when he pulls himself up into a sitting stance. On the same bed he's slept in every night since the 6th grade, because he's not good enough to receive a new one. Today he struggles to get through his daily routine. But like always, it's nothing exciting.

If getting up in the morning isn't bad enough, school feels like a War zone in comparison. He walks to hell every morning, and every morning he's like a spy attempting and rarely succeeding to keep under the radar of society.

"Good morning, Bruce."

Is a common thing to hear, but only just from his teachers. Some that he doesnt even remember, others that he's never really met before. Most adults like to pretend that they like him, that hes a good kid with high morals and perfect test scores despite being so very handicapped (not that any of them would actually admit that he was). He's only two of those things really; blind and smart, just because he doesnt have anything else. It's all he is, and all he ever can be. He knows that, he accepts it as his life and his truth, so then why cant they do the same? If he's worthless, then he is. Thats all there is to it. No end game, just a lack of normality that will ultimately become his detrimental existance of a life.

His reaction to everything is a curt and noncommitable nod.

Freak.

Gross, look at his eyes.

Whats wrong with him?

The door crunches and metal bends under the weight of his body being plowed against the hard barely yeilding surface. It hurts the already present bruise on his shoulder and he gasps softly at the dull pain erupting through his upper arm. The sharp edges of his books dig into the crook of his arm as he holds them tightly against his chest, eyes closed for no reason other then to shield other people from his fear. He probably looks so pathetic, he probably looks ready to take several hits, even though they never actually come, and instead there's only laughing that seems so much worse. It stings in places that he cant simply bandage. He dips his head down low self-conciously and his breathing grows heavier, his mind zeroing in on the cruelness that he most likely deserves, just for being what he is.

And somehow, it's his fault.

"Woah, dude... is he blind?"

More laughter, it's funny that someone would actually ask such a meaningless question.

"What? Who cares, this guys a freak anyway."

He tilts his head up slightly when hes sure that he can hear heavy steps leaving him alone, each one sending waves of relief within him. Even though he can still clearly feel one-hundred more eyes boreing into his every insecurity, at least he managed to ride them off without encouraging more spiteful truths and injuries to his already ugly looking person. He thinks its safe for him to shake, to let a little bit of that fear out into the open so that he can manage breathing again. Until clearly, its not okay. So far from, that he really wants to just run and run until he cant feel anything at all.

"You okay?" Bruce hears. And he panics.

He doesnt know what to make of those words, but they certainly make him feel worse then someone calling him 'freaky' ever could. Mainly because he can accept that hes different and that no one should or could ever accept someone like him. What he finds difficult to take is the thought that someone his age can tell that hes not okay, and that hes actually quite terrified all of the time. His lips part to speak but he doesnt utter any real words. Its just a jumbled mess that leaves him like baby bird falling out of a tree. It's ugly. He hears a small unimpressed scoff and stiffens more, "wow man, you really are kind of weird." His face flares, and he just bows his head in submission to the words. They dont have to sink in for him to know that they're true.

"Wait, fuck - no I didnt mean it like that. I was just kidding..."

There's a brush of fingers against his shoulder and he flinches back so violently that hes left feeling embarrased. He hates himself for it, and he hates that he could hear just a shred of humanity in this strangers voice. He feels like he can drown in it, like he doesnt even want to let it soak into his inner most thoughts. It should mean nothing. The mans words are an object of pity, something that hurts him too deep to compare with the violence it was undoubtebly created from. Why would anyone harbor that for someone like him? Then fast and sudden, like lightning, he knows hes only been played with. He can hear the stranger walk away, and even forgets the small collected sigh he swears he heard right before there was only silence. He quickly gathered himself and felt his way to class.

Three days later, there were no more encounters like the one before.

Nothing negative is said to him, and only one person ever tries to trip him in the hall, but he manages to catch himself by banging his hip against a table. Its concerning that he begins to feel a little idle while he walks within the school halls. He tries to worry, but his body starts to feel more relaxed. When he goes back to the house he should be calling his home, he even realizes that the thick discomfort he feels constantly, isnt at all normal. It starts to make him feel like an idiot, more then he already does. No one should rely so much on constant chaos like he seems to, to a point in which they feel lost without it. But he does, he's so lost. And it was unsettling to say the least.

He hurts even when he doesn't.

The week is almost over, and hes sitting in the lunch room at a table alone reading a brailed book. His fingers dance lightly over the surface of a page, each small bump tangling into words that take him away from everything. It makes him tangible to be attacked, but hes not worried. Whenever someone walks a little to close, he cant tell if their staring or not, and he doesnt think about it as he lets each sentence drag him deeper into a world not like his own. The way he sees things are different, he doesnt remember what the color blue is or how it looks when ocean-water sparkles as the sun reflects off of the shaky surface. But there is such beauty in words, if its concentrated in just the right way, he can even imagine the shape of a wilder beast, or how a princes sharp and steel sword would shine with the blood of those who dared to challenge his love for a beautiful princess. He sighs forlornly.

"Hey."

He looks up at the sudden presence sitting somewhere beside him, he closes the book and gently places it against his hands and lap to keep the stranger from taking it, just in case that was the others plan. It wouldnt be the first time that's happened, and he very well knew to always act on all unpleasant experiences. He doesnt answer and directs his blank gaze downward, although he knows that he doesnt need to. He doesnt like it when people can see his eyes. Hes been told that they arent very pleasant to look at anymore; they used to be the deepest brown, just like his mothers were, wide and pure. But now they had an added, ugly thin layer of grey just over the iris. He didnt like making other people feel uncomfortable.

"Im sorry about my friends... I actually havent talked to them since... you know. So-are you okay? It looked really painful when you hit that locker."

It was, but he still refused to reply. It was a little irritating. Why would this stranger be talking to him again? He recognized the voice right away, it was the same guy who had asked if he was blind, as if that fact surprised him. As f it actually mattered. After-all, why wouldnt he be tyronnized for his handicapt? It's a known fact that people dont like what they dont understand. Bruce knows that their scared of him. And he gets it, he can understand why they would be, even Bruce is afraid of himself. But then why doesnt this one person sound at all intimidated as he speaks. Bruce can't make himself understand.

"Dont want to talk? Fine, yeah, thats alright. You really don't have to..."

He could sense some agitation, and even a small degree of concern in the other males voice. Bruce's lips tightened, his heart accelerating slightly as he tried not to panic. What was this guy playing at exactly? He had to want something from Bruce, there was no way anyone would waste there time on him when they knew he wasnt going to respond verbally. After awhile of uncomfortable silence, he heard the other male scoot back in his chair, declaring outloud that he wouldnt waste Bruce's time and would take his leave. He didnt see why the stranger had felt a need to announce himself before he actually left, but Bruce still didnt say anything, and just shifted his book in his lap as he waited until the other had left, before opening his book back to his marked page.

"My name's Tony, by the way. Tony Stark..." Bruce looked up again in surprise, "well... I guess I'll see you later then... bye Bruce..." the voice softened. And then the other actually left, a confused and stunned Bruce in his wake.