A/N 1: AU teenage story set in 1980's Los Angeles, California. This was inspired by the Hulk comic series Tempest Fugit, but there will be variations as I take creative liberties. Major changes to the backstories of Bruce, Clint, and Natasha. Also, Steve Rogers is not in this because he's frozen in ice and Thor is in Asgard, so don't expect them to show up.
A/N 2: Bruce's thoughts. Hulk's thoughts.
A/N 3: My other story Something Like Human is on hiatus. I will get back to it, promise!
Pairing: Bruce/Joe/Rick Jones but eventual Bruce/Clint. Bruce/Clint/Natasha/Tony/Rick friendship-ish.
Warnings: Mental health issues including Dissociative Identity Disorder, voyeurism, and suicidal thoughts and tendencies. Foul language, M/M and M/F relationships and sexually suggestive situations but nothing explicit, drug and alcohol use, violence, verbal and physical child abuse, mentions of murder, and overall mature themes.
Rating: Strong T or M depending on maturity level.
Bruce's Multiple Personalities Guide FYI:
Banner (Bruce): Host personality. Genius outcast. Emotionally distant, withdrawn, but cares about people. Wants to save everyone except himself. Little self worth and highly self-sacrificial. Awkward. People call him freak. Survivor's guilt, blames himself for mother's death.
Hulk (Gray) - Main alter, voice in Banner's head and constant with other multiples. Angry and critical of Banner. Blames Banner for mother's death and thinks of him as puny, weak, and worthless (much like his father).
Joe (Joe Fixit) - Enforcer/Protector. A surly teenager; menacing in appearance, arrogant, domineering, bad-tempered, moody. Mischievous. Charming when wants to be. Talkative. Sexually promiscuous. Hulk likes Joe and Joe likes Hulk.
Robbie (Savage Hulk, Green) - Child-like (Banner at 8 years old), quick tempered but ultimately wants to be left alone. Stockholm Syndrome, defends his father.
David (Devil Hulk, Red) - Evil...sociopath. Doesn't talk much if at all. Stoic, unemotional, cold, calculated, and vengeful. All he wants to do is get back at the people who's hurt them. No moral compass.
The year was 1988. Ronald Reagan was still the President of the United States, the Soviet Red Army was still invading Afghanistan, and most of the residents of Los Angeles, California were watching the NBA playoffs as the L.A. Lakers looked to win the basketball championship. Even the Axl Rose lookalike working the music store had his back turned to the door as his eyes were glued on the black-and-white television in the corner.
All the teenage boy with wavy hair and brown eyes that narrowed behind a pair of thin wire-framed eyeglasses could think about was whether to buy the Metallica's album Master of Puppets or The Cure's The Head on the Door. He was leaning more towards The Cure solely because he hadn't listened to their music before, but then again, he really liked Metallica and knew he wouldn't end up blowing his money.
"Is this band any good?" he asked as he picked the cassette up and held it up so the guy behind the counter could see it. When he was ignored, he asked again, "Hey, are they any good?"
"What band?" The Axl Rose lookalike asked without taking his eyes off the basketball game.
"The Cure."
"Yeah, man. Take it."
A small smirk spread across his sun tanned face as he repeated the words, "Take it?"
"As long as you pay for it, I'll let you take the other you've been debating with for the last five minutes for free." Okay, so maybe Axl had been paying attention this whole time. He grabbed both tapes and started for the counter. "With what you're wearing I figured you for a country-western fan," Axl said as he turned around and rang up the order. "Nine bucks, kid."
He stared at the guy then looked down at his clothes. He wore a thin plaid long sleeve buttoned-down shirt, pair of khakis stained with bleach, and a worn out pair of leather loafers were on his bare feet.
"Don't you own tennis shoes?"
Tossing a ten on the counter, he told him, "I don't even own shorts."
Axl laughed as he said, "You live in Cali. Go get some surfer shorts, dude, and take in some rays."
After accepting the change for the ten, he took both cassette tapes and left the store. Out on the sidewalk he dropped his wallet and one of the tapes in the backpack then slung it over his shoulders before unclipping the Walkman from his belt. He unwrapped the newly bought tape and switched out U2 with The Cure. Then once he had the tape player clipped back onto his belt, headphones on his ears, he pressed 'play'.
The moment he heard the first rapid beating of the drums of "In Between Days", he was hooked. Unlocking his bike from the post he had it chain to, he wrapped the chain around the bike frame then headed down 4th Street that ran along Santa Monica Beach.
That was when he heard a voice start to sing, "Yesterday I got so old I felt like I could die. Yesterday I got so old It made me want to cry. Go on, go on just walk away, go on, go on your choice is made, go on, go on and disappear, go on, go on away from here..."
His hands were drumming along as he peddled steadily down the street. The neon and twinkling lights of the Venice boardwalk faded into the shadows of the high buildings, hotels, and business. The breeze felt crisp and cool against his face on that mild spring night as he took a corner wide and leaned into the turn. He loved riding his bike; it felt like he was flying and floating at the same time.
"And I know was wrong when I said it was true, that it couldn't be me, and be her, inbetween without you...Without you..."
Glowing orange lamplights, brake lights and highbeams of cars coming and going, and the blinking red and flashing from green to yellow of streetlights kept his attentions as he weaved around parked cars and moving ones. The further he got from the beach the thicker the air grew. Sweat started to coat his back as he peddled faster to the rhythm of the upbeat song as he steered toward home.
"Yesterday I got so scared I shivered like a child. Yesterday away from you it froze me deep inside. Come back, come back, don't walk away, come back, come back, come back, today. Come back, come back why can't you see..."
Up ahead on the corner a guy wearing a black leather jacket with spiked black hair was yelling at a girl with curly red hair wearing a brown leather jacket and black skirt. Then he suddenly reached out and grabbed the girl by her arm as she tried to walk away. She started shoving him back but he kept pulling her toward him.
"And I know I was wrong when I said it was true, that it couldn't be me, and be her, inbetween without you..."
His bike came to an abrupt stop before he reached the corner and watched as the girl was shoved against the cemented wall of the building. Feeling his jaw twitch as his hands gripped over the rubber handles his eyes darted around the street and noticed no one else paying attention or even bothering to help. He was the only one who noticed.
Don't do it, Banner. "I have to do something." Hulk not gonna help. You're on your own, kid. "Tell me something I don't know," he said back as he cursed himself.
Shit, he thought as he pulled off the backpack and opened it to examine the contents while he tried to figure out what to do. There wasn't much; a few books, his wallet, a transistor radio, cassette tape, and a pack of gum and Mentos. Looking back behind him, he spotted the 24-Hour sign of the local gas station and quickly sped toward it.
Inside the gas station he only bought one thing: a bottle of Diet Coke with the remaining change he had in his pocket. Getting back on his bike, he unscrewed the cap off the Diet Coke and positioned the open end of the Mentos over the opening to the bottle. Then he headed back down the street to where the boy was now physically trapping the girl to the wall.
The girl's whole body was tense as she tried to fight her way out from being pinned. As he got closer, he let out a whistle to get the guy's attention away from her and onto him. "Catch," he said at the exact moment he let the Mentos drop down into the bottle then tossed it to guy.
On instinct, the guy turned slighlty and caught the bottle being thrown as the sudden eruption of soda into the air took him by surprise.
Stopping his bike, he looked over at the stunned girl and asked, "Coming with me?"
She looked guy who was soaking wet from soda and climbed up on the handlebar before he could figure out what was going on. "Only if I want to live," she said with an amused smirk.
He laughed at the Terminator reference as he took off down the street. "Where to?" he asked into her ear.
She pointed the way around the streets, taking him further away from home and back toward the Santa Monica. Then they headed South and into a Palm tree lined neighborhood that had him very confused. Who was this girl? Trouble.
"Stop here."
They came to a stop and she jumped off the bike and turned to face him, saying, "Thanks for that."
"No problem," he told her as he looked around the Ocean Park neighborhood. Her house was a blue and white trim two story bungalow with a stone wall and white picket fence. His hands startled to tremble slightly as the adrenline wore down. Now he was alone with her. Trying to push the panic aside, he took a deep breath. Okay, you can do this, Banner. Take a deep breath and talk..."You really live here?"
She looked around and shrugged her shoulders. "My parents are in real estate," she said as to explain why she lived in a quite possible million dollar home.
"Well, it's safe to say that they're doing very well for themselves." And try not to sound like a condescending jackass.
"How about your parents? What'd they do?"
Shaking his head a little as he looked away, he let out a breath as he told her, "Parent, actually. It's just me and my father. And uh, it's classified."
She laughed and said, "Fine don't tell me but you don't have to lie."
"No, it really is classified. I can tell you that he has a degree in Physics. He works out of UCLA and does work for the government, but other than that he doesn't talk about it. All he says is that it's classified." He stared over at her for a long moment, watching as she pulled her jacket tighter around her body. "So, who was that guy?"
She looked embarrassed for a split second before it was gone and her face was back to being stoic. "An ex of mine."
"You dated that guy?" He looked her over as he tried to figure her age under too much eye-shadow and makeup. "How old are you?"
"Fourteen, and why'd you care? It was no big deal, okay. I kind-of deserved it," she said as she kicked the sidewalk with her heels.
"No one deserves that, especially not a girl. You shouldn't think that-"
"I don't! And who do you think you are, my dad? I don't even know you."
Nice going, Banner. Get her mad already after saving her from that psycho. He raised his hands as he pushed the bike he was sitting on backwards and away. "Sorry, and you're right, you don't know me." Once he saw her relax, he said, "I'm Bruce Banner."
"Natasha Rushman."
"Well, Natasha, this was fun but I've got to get going," he said as he started to back-peddled.
"So, is this your thing?"
He stopped as he asked in confusion, "My thing?"
"Going around helping young girls in distress so you can get lucky?"
Ha! Like you'd stand a chance. Bruce closed his eyes against that mockery and shook his head. "No, it's not like that. I didn't..." He opened his eyes to look at her. "I didn't help you because I thought I could...you know, get lucky." Her look of disbelief was actually funny, so he laughed a little. "It's the truth. I did it because you were in trouble, and I didn't like seeing you in trouble."
"You care about what happens to me?" she teasingly asked. "Some strange girl you don't even know."
"Haven't you ever done something for someone else without wanting something in return?"
She shrugged and shook her head as she started to back away. "Not really. Guess you're a better person than I am."
He frowned at that and shook his head. If only she knew. "I hightly doubt that. I should get going."
"Hey wait," she said suddenly as she pulled out a tube of something from her jacket pocket and opened it. "Roll up your sleeve."
"Excuse me?"
"I don't have a pen or paper, roll it up."
He had no idea what Natasha was planning with the stick of lipstick she had in her hand but he did, rather hesitantly, rolled up his left arm sleeve. She grabbed his arm and stilled for a moment, spotting the scars, before she started writing something on his skin. They were numbers.
"Give me a call if you want to get together some time." She then gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and then headed up the walkway to the front door. "Thanks again, Bruce."
Give me a call...She's gonna hurt you. Remember the last girl you tried to help? Give enough time, she'll start calling you a freak too. "Shut. Up." Bruce watched as she disappeared into her house and smiled slightly. That was the first time anyone wanted him to give them a call, or kissed him for that matter. Way to go, Banner.
Checking the time on his watch, his moment of happiness slipped as he cursed when noticed it was going on ten o'clock. Pulling on his headphones to drain out the constant voice in his head, he resumed listening to the music as he hurried home.
His body felt like it was on fire by the time he reached the two story house in West Los Angeles just a few miles south of the University of California, Los Angeles. Sweat was dripping down his whole body as he stopped at the fence and let the bike fall to the cement drive. Rummaging around in the garage behind the house, he found a jar filled with nails and took one out. Stepping back over to the bike, he grimaced as he knelt down and stabbed the nail into the front tire and let all the air out.
He carried the bike through the gate and dropped it by the backdoor as he unlocked it and entered into the kitchen. Bruce grabbed a glass out of the strainer and filled it with water. He nearly choked a few times as he gulped it down then refilled it again before heading up the stairs to his room. The two bedrooms were on opposite sides of the bathroom he and his father shared. His father's bedroom door was shut but he could see the flickering glow of the television under the door.
Opening the door to his room, he stood in the doorway and sipped the water as he tried not to think about the morning. He moved into the room and turned on the lamp light on the desk next to the door. The room was painted blue and had posters taped nearly over every square inch of the walls. There were movie posters such as 2001: A Space Odyssey, the Star Wars trilogy, and Dr. Strangelove to band posters such as The Ramones, Queen, and Pink Floyd. Then there were the absolute obscure black-and-white images of the 1937 Hindenburg Zeppelin crash, the atomic explosion mushroom cloud, and of Albert Einstein with a quote that read: "I have no special talents, I am only passionately curious."
A map of the city of Los Angeles was tacted over his desk along with Schrodinger's Equation of Quantum Mechanics beside the Feynman diagram of Quantum Field Theroy. His desk was littered with books, papers, and notebooks full of his own notes and diagrams of his ongoing work on antielectron collisions. Model rockets and planes hung from the ceiling as model cars were used as bookends on shelves. In the middle of the shelves was his stereo system that played records, cassettes, and had radio. Next to the shelves was a telescope pointed out his window and not necessarily aimed up at the sky.
He dropped his backpack into the chair at the desk and started to undress. It was time for a shower and then some much needed sleep. Taking a pen and paper into the bathroom with him, he held his left arm up in the mirror and jotted down the phone number written on it along with the name 'Natasha'.
As he stuffed the number into his pants pocket he heard the door next to the bathroom open. He felt his body tense as he stilled. His father appeared in the doorway. Brian Banner was four inches taller than him, putting him a six foot even. His brown eyes were bloodshot with dark shadows under them due to lack of sleep. In his hand was a glass of amber liquid that Bruce knew was whiskey. Maker's Mark, his father's poison of choice.
"You're late. Curfew's nine o'clock on school nights."
Busted. I'd start praying now if I were you. "I know and I apologize for not making it on time. I got a flat." Liar, liar, pants on fire. "I had to take the bus then walk the rest of the way," he continued his lie as he picked up the cup of coffee and took a sip.
Brian stared at him as his top lip twitched under his mustache. It was a sure sign that he was getting angry. "A flat?"
He gave a nod and said, "Yeah. I'll-" Before he could finish, Brian disappeared down the stairs. Then he heard the backdoor being open. You're in it now. He knows. "He doesn't know." Just wait. Father will smash puny Banner, again. "I've never lied to him before. He wouldn't think I was lying...unless..." His eyes narrowed as he asked, "You didn't tell him, did you...Hulk?" When he didn't receive an answer, he felt his jaw twitchas the seconds ticked by and he couldn't do anything but wait.
After a long sixty-two seconds he heard the door slam shut. Brian reappeared up the steps and pointed at him. "It better get fixed. I don't have time to drive-"
"Yes, sir, I'll get right on it in the morning." He watched as Brian looked him over, took a sip of his drink, and then went back into his bedroom and shut the door. That was when he felt himself breathe again. Ye of little faith. "Sorry," he muttered to before turning on the water for a shower.
After the shower he laid in bed for a long time. He couldn't get comfortable and he was still wired. He kept thinking about what happened that night. For the first time in all his life, he actually helped someone out when they were in trouble. It felt great and he was able to do it by himself. Just him, Bruce Banner, and no one else. Then she had given him her number and had kissed him as a thank you.
His body started to feel a little too hot and he groaned as he sat up in bed. He didn't want to think about her but now he was getting increasingly uncomfortable yet needy. Getting up out of bed, he went over to his window and looked out at the neighboring houses. Despite the late hour, several were still up or just getting into bed. There were a few neighbors he knew he could rely on when he got this way. Peering through the telescope, he searched out the windows until he found what he'd been looking for.
Their names were Matt and Ryan. Both students at UCLA and both claiming to only be roommates. He, however, knew the truth to their relationship. He pulled his desk chair over and sat down before focusing the telescope lense into the window of the house adjacent to his. He didn't know why, but for some reason they always kept the light on. It was like they wanted him to watch them as they kissed and made-out on the couch before taking it into the bedroom. Tonight was different; they never left the couch.
The next morning he rushed around the kitchen as he prepared breakfast. He'd picked up the paper from the front yard and had it ready on the table for his father. The coffee was done brewing as he flipped the bacon and stirred the scambled eggs while the bread toasted in the toaster. Minutes later, while he was taking the bacon out of the skillet and placing it onto some paper towels, he heard his father walk into the room.
Glancing over his shoulder, he watched as his father poured himself a cup of coffee and then took his seat at the table without saying a word. He went back to fixing them both plates as his throat went dry. He nearly dropped the toast but was able to catch it before it hit the counter. His father liked butter on his while he liked jam. After placing his father's plate in front of him, he sat his on the table then went to get a cup of coffee.
Finally sitting down at the table, he took a sip of the coffee then went to take a bite of the eggs when his father spoke, "I know you lied to me."
He stilled over his plate and lifted his head slightly as he looked over at his father. Brian was dressed in a freshly pressed tweed suit jacket and dress shirt, no tie, and his black hair was combed perfectly in place. Under the facade of that clean appearance, he could smell the hint of alcohol on his breath. His father was hitting the bottle already, or maybe he'd slipped some bourbon into his coffee.
When he didn't respond, Brian lifted his brown eyes over the paper as he said,"I'm talking to you."
Blinking back, Bruce swallowed hard as he asked, "What?"
Brian folded the paper and put it down on the table. "I saw you when you got home. You went into the garage, got what I'm assuming was a nail, and then jammed it into your tire."
Banner thought he was so smart. Father smartest one there is. He felt his hand start to shake and put the fork down before he dropped it. Staring down at his plate of food, he no longer had an appetite.
"I'm giving you one chance to tell me the truth."
Letting out a breath, he told him, "I went to the record store."
"And?"
Go on, tell him. You met a girl. You have her number, and she kissed you. Go on, tell him, see what happens. "And," he shook his head and lied again, "I lost track of time. I tried to hurry back but traffic was bad. I didn't think that was a good enough excuse so I flattened my tire...Sorry."
It'd been months since the last time his father had physically hit him, but the threat was always there, especially when he'd been drinking. However, what hasn't been lacking was the verbal attacks he would receive from his father. And the mind games the man liked to play. He never knew what to expect from his father from one minute to the next.
"That's it? You're sorry?"
Bruce knew it was coming before it came just from the way his father spoke those words. The backhand to his face nearly sent him backwards out of the chair as his glasses flew off his face. He felt the needle-sharp stings in his face then the swelling numbness of his split lip. The plate of food in front of him was suddenly taken away as Brian grabbed it as he stood and then threw it into the sink, shattering the plate. He licked at the blood spreading over his lips as his hands fisted the seat of the chair. It was all he could to do to keep from trying to hit him back.
He'd tried that once; it didn't end well for him. That's 'cause you're pathetic.
"Get up."
It took him a moment to realize he'd been spoken to. "What?"
"Get up," Brian said as he yanked him to his feet and then pushed him. "What're you going to do, huh?" he asked as he slapped him again.
Bruce felt his hands fist at his sides as his father pushed him again. What ARE you going to do?! Smash him back!
"Think you're a big man now," Brian said with a push to his chest. "Staying out all night," he emphasized with another slap to his head. "Lying to me!" He was pushed against the wall and held there as Brian got right in his face. "What'd you do? Smoke some pot?" He slapped him in the head again. "Get laid?" He hit him again. "Because I know damn well you didn't get held up at a record store. So what was it?"
He swallowed down the lump in his throat as he let slip out of his trembling bleeding mouth, "Met a girl."
Brian actually smiled a little at that as he nodded. "Met a girl, huh? You kiss her?" Bruce shook his head and flinched as Brian pushed his face against the wall then let go. "Of course not. You're not a man; you're nothing but a pansy ass piece of shit. Can't even defend yourself, but you sure can lie, can't you?" he said as he walked back over to the table and sat down. Picking up the paper, he went back to reading it like nothing had happened.
Bruce pushed himself off the wall, grabbed his glasses off he floor, and left the kitchen as he fought back tears. They weren't from the pain but the hate he had for his father, and the humiliation he'd put him through. Shoulda got Joe. He'd at least tried to fight back. "And landed us both in the hospital. It's better not to fight back." Says the weakling. He cleaned up as best he could in the bathroom but the split lip was noticable as well as the bruise under his right eye from the first blow to his face.
He grabbed his backpack and immediately left the house to fix his bike's flat tire. The gnawing of his empty stomach pissed him off the entire bike ride to his high school. He arrived late for first bell, making it his fifth tardy in two weeks. He'd lost count of how many total on the year. His bike slid to a stop at the bike rack and he quickly dismounted and chained it up so not to get stolen before heading inside the main doors. Before he reached the hallway to the office he heard a voice call out his name.
"Mr. Banner!"
He groaned and cursed under his breath before turning around. The Assistant Principal Mr. Patterson was coming his way and he didn't look too happy. In fact, he never looked happy.
"How many is that now?" Giving it some thought, Bruce wasn't able to answer when he heard him say, "After school detention."
"What?" he asked in confusion and near shock. "It's the last day of school."
Mr. Patterson only stared down at him as he said, "Do you want to graduate?"
"Of course."
"Then I suggest you do as I say. Just because it's the last day doesn't mean you get to do whatever you want and still expect to graduate. It'd be a shame considering how hard you've worked to make up for what happened last year."
Bruce flinched at that and looked down at the floor as he gave a nod. He should have been expelled but that didn't happen. He was lucky, he knew, to have been accepted back to school. The fact that he'd been a 3.8 GPA student since attending the high school and this year he'd managed to maintain a 4.0. He was sure his grades was one of the reasons why they'd given him another shot and whay had kept him out of jail. His Uncle Morris was most likely the second. Morris was the County Sheriff and despite his hate for Brian Banner, his wife's brother, he liked Bruce.
"Come on, I'll walk you to class."
"But I have to report-"
"You're tardy because of me. I held you up, which I will explain to Miss Shirley personally," Mr. Patterson told him as he shoved him in the back, toward the hallway.
He had no idea why Mr. Patterson was suddenly being so nice but he wasn't about to complain. It wasn't like he was being too nice; he did have after school detention on the last day of school. As they approached his first class of the day, Mr. Patterson asked, "What happened?"
Bruce stopped outside the door and just looked up at him in confusion.
"Your lip's busted."
"Oh, yeah, right. I fell off my bike. Well, it wasn't that I fell, more like...crashed while trying to jump a curb."
"Ouch. Good thing you didn't bust your skull. Don't you have a helmet?"
He did have one his junior year. "It got stolen. Haven't gotten around to replacing it."
"Maybe now's the time," Mr. Patterson told him before escorting him into the classroom and having a word with his first period teacher.
After that morning, it was a long and uneventful day at school. It was all very boring and he admitted to actually falling asleep in AP Physics against the backwall when he was supposed to have been revising his scholarship thesis on Quantum Mechanics. It was practically finished anyway, all he had left to do was insert the diagrams.
Once last bell rang, he headed slowly to his locker as every student in the school happily and excitedly started to run around him, throwing up papers and books and leaving the school as quickly as possible. Some were leaving for the summer and some for the rest of their lives.
Taking the turn down the hallway, he saw the hand come out right before his books were smacked out of his hand. A pair of hands grabbed him by the front of the shirt and tossed him back into the lockers right before he heard Ken Nando's voice tell him, "Thanks for the memories, bitch" as a fist knocked all the air out of his lungs.
A couple more guys pushed and shoved him until he was tripping over his legs and tumbled to the floor as they kicked his books down the hallway. He stayed sitting on the floor as he tried to breathe without anything hurting.
That's it? After everything Jerk boy's done to you, you're just going to sit there? That's it. Where's Joe? Get Joe! "Not now." C'mon, Banner, calm down. His hands flinched and pulsed as he clenched and unclenched them while he fought down the anger that pounded his head. NOW IS ALL YOU HAVE LEFT! Feeling his jaw start to twitch he closed his eyes and took some painfully steady breaths to calm himself down. Joe will teach Jerk boy a lesson. Come on, Banner, you know what to do...
"Hey, man, you okay?"
Opening his eyes, he looked up at some blond-haired punk rock kid who stared down at him behind a pair of dark sunglasses. "Never better. Ken lost some power in his swing, guess skipping P.E. will do that to a guy,'' he said as a sly smirk spread over his face. Heeeey Joe. Hey Hulk.
The kid held out his hand and helped him to his feet then shoved his books into his chest.
"Thanks," he groaned against the jolt of pain in his chest as he took the books. Jeez, Banner. Why'd you let that jerk-off hit you so hard?
The kid said over his shoulder, "Don't mention it," as he turned to walk away.
Joe watched as the kid headed down the hallway before continuing on to Bruce's locker. The littered hallway was empty now and he was left alone. He pulled a bottle of Tylenol from Bruce's backpack and popped it into his mouth and swallowed it dry as he gathered the notebooks, empting the locker for the last time. Looking into the mirror on the back of the locker door, he pulled off the nerdy eyeglasses and tossed them into the backpack as well. He didn't need them. Banner didn't need them all the time either but he liked to hide behind them. The hair was another story. He tried to make it look decent and cool but it was useless.
"Detention?" he asked once he gave up on the hair. Banner was late again. "Figures. That kid will be late to his own funeral one of these days," he said as he grabbed a thin black leather jacket ouf to the locker before slamming it shut. "When Banner screws up he always calls on Joe because Joe fixes it, that's why they call me Joe Fixit...Get it?" he said as he pulled on jacket. When Hulk didn't laugh, he sighed, picked up the backpack and slung it over one shoulder as he said, "Idiot." Idiot. He stopped on the step and smirked before he laughed and headed up to the third floor.
After school detention was the same classroom it's been since they started going to that school in the tenth grade. Third floor, room F-365. He entered the room and didn't even have to give his name to the teacher. Mr. Ledbetter only looked at him and shook his head as he marked Bruce's name off of the sheet. Without asking, he went to the phone in the corner and called his work's phone number and informed them that he'd be late again.
Taking up a desk in the back of the room, he pulled out a notebook and pencil then flipped to the last page they'd left off at and began writing. Someone took a seat next to him and cleared their throat. Looking up, he saw the punk rock kid smirking at him. He didn't know the guy's name but in his mind, he was going to call him Sid after Sid Vicious from the punk band Sex Pistols.
"In all the detention rooms in all the world, you walk into mine."
"That's the worst pickup line ever," Joe shot back, causing Sid to chuckle behind the dark sunglasses. He smiled back. He's BIG trouble. Ignoring the voice, he looked the kid over and thought, trouble for Banner, but no trouble for "Joey the Kid". He could actually feel Hulk roll his eyes at him.
"I haven't seen you in here before."
Joe smirked as he said, "Funny, all the times I've had detention I've never seen you either."
"This was my first full year here. I transferred at the end of last year so...I don't remember you though. I think I would have remembered."
There was a very good reason Sid didn't remember them from last year if he'd only transferred there at the end of the year. "This is only my second time in detention this year. And last year, I was suspended for the remainder of the semester, that's probably why."
Sid was quiet again before asking, "What's your name?"
He stopped himself from saying Joe as he told him, "Banner... Bruce Banner." Then he watched as the sudden realization appeared on the Sid's face.
"You're the bomb guy!"
Mr. Ledbetter's head lifted up at that and everyong in the class, only two others, turned and stared at them.
Joe gave a amused wave, causing everyone to turn back around or shake their heads. Looking back at Sid, he told him, "It was a science project."
"Not what I heard. Rumor is you tried to blow up the school," he said and started laughing. "I'm surprised you're not in jail, man."
He saw the amused smile on Sid's face and smiled himself. Those sunglass were keeping him from seeing his eyes and it was starting to get annoying. Joe liked it when he saw mischief in someone else's eyes beside his own. "Yeah, well, I got lucky. It really was a science project. It wasn't even an active bomb...It was stupid." Stupid of Banner getting caught with it.
"How'd you get out of it? Did you have to do community service?"
"Some, but like I said, I got lucky." We got lucky. "Can I get back to my work now?"
Sid shrugged as he said, "Free country. I'm Clint, by the way. Clint Barton," he said as he held out his hand.
Joe stared at the offered hand then took it into his and shook it. He let his fingers caress along his wrist then palm as he pulled away. To his surprise, and pleasure, Sid didn't freak out; instead, he looked very much interested in him now. He smiled a little before going back to write in the notebook.
"What're you writing?" he asked as he reached out to grab it.
His hand slammed down on the desk, nearly smacking Sid's hand as panic flared in his chest. NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS! "That's none of your business."
Sid had yanked his hand back and he could see the surprise even behind the sunglasses. "Yea, hey, sorry man. Shouldn't have done that."
"Sorry...bullies you know. Usually when other people touch my stuff...I don't get it back in one piece."
Sid gave a nod and apologized again before saying, "You have John 3:16 written over the cover...Religious?"
He flipped the notebook to the cover and saw it written there on front. "No, mother wa Catholic..." Joe shook his head as he tried to remember what Banner had thought about that biblical verse. What did he say..."It's more of what the verse is about. Sacrificing yourself for others, the sinners and the saints, even if it means your death, for the good of it all." He looked over and saw Sid staring at him. "Deep huh?"
"As the ocean," Sid said then leaned his head back on the wall. "Pretty cool actually," he mumbled to himself before laying down on the desk to take a nap.
Joe returned his attention to the notebook as he started writing. It was awhle later that he felt himself start to fade a little. No, no, no, no! Not now. Come on! I just got to...
His vision came into focus and he found himself staring down at his notebook in the detention room. Looking around, he saw the punk kid asleep at the desk next to his and frowned in confusion. "Damn it," he said under his breath. "Not again." Joe and Punk boy talked. Turning back to his notebook, he squinted at the blurry words and sighed in frustration. After he dug around in the bag and found his glasses, he put them on and saw written at the top of the page 'Sid Vicious = Clint Barton' then the words 'nice' and 'cute as fuck'.
Stay away. "I'm not having this discussion with you," he muttered as he headed down the hallway after detention ended. Punk boy is trouble. "Punk boy...Clint," he corrected, "was nice. You're not even nice to me anymore." Banner likes to make his own misery and pain nowadays. Not my problem. Hulk warn you, but you never listen. The voice went quiet as he exited the school and walked to the bike rack. As he was unlocking the chain, he heard someone come up behind him.
"What're you doing tonight?"
Bruce turned and saw Clint standing him. "What?"
Clint smirked and came to a stop next to him. "I'm in a band: Rebels Against the Cause. I know, total rip-off of the James Dean movie. Anyway, I play the drums and we have a gig at the Rip Chord. You know the place?"
The Rip Chord was a local hangout for the punk rock crowd down by Venice Beach. "I know it. Never been."
"Cool, come check us out. Our set starts at 9:30."
"Wait, wait," Bruce shook his head as he asked, "why are you asking me?"
Clint only looked at him in confusion then said slowly, "Caaauuse..."
When that was the only answer he received he laughed a little as he said, "Thanks, but nobody invites me anywhere...for anything. You saw me get my dignity handed to me by Ken Nando and we only met this afternoon-"
"So what? I just thought...Forget it, you know what, come if you want." Clint shook his head and backed away. "Choice is yours," as he shoved his hands into his leather jacket and walked away.
Bruce watched him walk away for the second time that afternoon and sighed in annoyance with himself. He didn't know why he always questioned people about their motives and reasons, but he did and it always seemed to push them further away. It was no wonder he only had one friend.
That's not the only reason...Puny boy. "Go away," he said as he pulled on his headphones.
Come or don't. Tonight at nine he'd be at the Rip Chord...maybe. Hell, he didn't know. Right now he had to get to work. He was late. Story of his life.
Due to his father's position at the university, he had been able to get himself a job on UCLA's campus. It wasn't the greatest job in the world, but if filled his pockets and helped him to build a rapport with the university's staff and the professors. He didn't mind that he pushed a mop around and cleaned hallways, classrooms, and bathrooms because he got access to the labs and could talk to any professor he wanted about any topic that interest him. Plus, he had nobody bothering him and could listen to his music while he worked.
When he clocked out at six he still didn't know if he was going to Venice Beach to see Clint's band play. He wasn't good in social situations due to never going to a party or out with groups of people. His stomach turned just thinking about it as he got on his bike and headed home. Most of his life he'd spent alone; whether he was at home or outside, he would be by himself. Now he was asked to go to a music venue and..do what exactly? Stand uncomfortably in a corner until the set ended then go home? It wasn't like he would be invited to stay afterwards and actually hangout. Would he?
He arrived home and as he entered the kitchen he heard music coming from his father's study. It was Mozart's Symphony No. 41 in C Major, one of his father's favorites.
There was no dinner made which was no surprise seeing how his father always ate before coming home on most nights. He always had dinner arrangements with someone whether it was a co-worker, or client, or the boss. Since he had no idea what his father did, he only had to take him on his word. Personally, he thought he was seeing someone but didn't want to tell him. It wasn't like he would care. His mother had been dead for a long time now. Eleven years to be exact.
Bruce stared into the refrigerator as the thought of his mother enter his mind. He hadn't thought about her in at least a few months. Not since Mother's Day. His hand started to hurt and he realized he was gripping the door handle so hard his knuckles had turned white. Shutting the refrigerator door, he left the kitchen and was about to go upstairs to his room when he noticed his father leaning against the doorframe to his study.
In Brian's hand was a glass of Maker's Mark, two figures worth. He worked his jaw as he stood staring at his father who was staring right back at him. "I'm giving you a week."
He stared at his father as he asked nervously even though he already feared the answer, "Week for what?"
"To pack your shit and get out."
Smash...him. "You're kicking me out?" Bruce didn't even put up a fight as he swallowed hard around the lump that'd formed in his throat. His father was kicking him out. Smash. Him. His jaw was twitching again as he glared at the man. Then all he could think to say through his anger was, "This is it, isn't it?" He huffed out a laugh that was anything but amused. "Your one last punch to my gut?"
His father just stood there, leaning against the doorframe, and took a sip of the whiskey as he said, "This isn't a punch to the gut. This is you being an adult now. You're eighteen, have a job, done with school...still can't kiss a girl though, which is for the best considering how much of a freak you are."
SMASH HIM! "Fine, I'll move out, and until then, I no longer have a curfew. You're right, I'm an adult. I don't need my father telling me when to be home." He turned around and walked back into the kitchen as he said over his shoulder, "Don't wait up." Coward. "Shut the fuck up!" he yelled as he slammed the back door shut.
Getting on his bike, he wasn't sure where he was going as long as it was as far away from there as possible, which ended up being in the Westchester neighborhood a couple miles from LAX airport. He let his bike fall into the driveway and stumbled up to the door and knocked.
After two knocks the door opened and he saw his Aunt Elaine break into a wide smile as seeing it was him. "Bruce! What a surprise, come in. Jen, Bruce is here!" she called out into the house.
He stepped inside and immediately took his shoes off as his cousin Jennifer came bouncing into the room. She practically pounced on him as she gave him a hug before letting go. Jen was five years younger than him but already nearly as tall. "Long time no see, stranger. Oh my god, what happened to your face?"
Bruce realized that Christmas had been the last time he'd visited his only other remaining family. They were one of the reasons they had originially moved to California three years ago. His father had wanted to start over somewhere new, again, after he'd been laid off after a company merger and downsizing. So they had packed up for the second time in five years and left Nevada for California. Before then it was from his home state of Ohio when he ten.
Even though the Walters family was his family, he'd only actually known them for the last three years. He hadn't even known his father had a sister until they were packing up the house in Nevada. Then he found out from his Aunt Elaine that they had another sister, Susan, who lived out East in Pennsylvania. He had family other than his father, and he hadn't even known about them until he was fifteen years old.
"Crashed my bike on the way here," he lied.
His Aunt didn't look convinced as she asked, "You rode your bike here all the way from West L.A.?"
"Yeah," he said as he took in a deep breath. His lungs still hurt from the long bike ride. "It took me less than an hour."
"Wow," Jen said with a wide smile. "You could be an Olympic cyclist. It's in Seoul this year. That's in South Korea."
"I don't really care about the Olympics, Jen," he said and saw the excited look on her face drop. Shit, nice one, Banner. Now he felt like a jerk. "I'm not into sports..." he finished lamely and sighed as he looked to his Aunt for help. God, he wasn't good at this stuff.
Aunt Elaine took pity on him as she told Jennifer, "Why don't you go set the table for dinner. Food's almost done."
Jen gave him one last soft smile of forgiveness, telling him, "It's okay. I know you're a science geek," before going into the dining room to set the table with real china.
Bruce stepped into the living room as he told Aunt Elaine, "I didn't mean to upset her."
"It's okay. She's just really excited about this year's Olympics. They learned all about it in school and it's all she can talk about." She then looked him over and crossed her arms. "I know you didn't crash your bike, Bruce."
He stared at her for a long moment then asked, "Can we talk?"
The way he said that cause her to suddenly look concern but before she could voice it, his Uncle Morris interrupted. "Dinner is done," he said as he walked into the room and spotted him standing there. "Bruce, hey, how're you? Congrats."
"I'm good, Uncle Morris, thanks."
Morris looked back-and-forth between Aunt Elaine and him and then said, "Have you eaten dinner yet?"
"Uhhh, no, but I don't want to intrude."
"You're not. I grilled enough steaks to feed the whole neighborhood. Elaine got me a new propane one for my birthday. Come on, grab a plate."
"Now I won't have to cook dinner all summer long," he heard his Aunt whisper in his ear, causing him to chuckle as they entered the dining room.
He ate slowly, feeling the pull of his bruised adominal muscles made it hard to concentrate on the conversations around the table. Jen did most of the talking as she excitedly talked about her summer plans of continuing gymnastics and something about training to be a lifeguard.
"Have any plans for the summer, Bruce?"
He looked up from his half eaten steak and potatoes and saw everyone looking at him. Shifting uncomfortably in the chair, he said, "Work."
Morris smiled a little as he asked, "Heard back from any colleges yet?"
"Some," he said as he went back to stabbing his fork into his pieces of steak. "Caltech, UCLA, Harvard and a few others out East, but...I don't know which one I want to attend yet. I've got a few scholarship opportunities as well."
"You should go to UCLA," Jen said, "that way you can stay here."
That was actually the last thing he wanted to do. No offense to his family, but he just did not like it in L.A. He could care less about the Hollywood scene, the movie stars, and the beach. Everything about the city he didn't want to have any part of anymore. And that included his father. He wanted to get as far away from that man as humanly possible.
He smiled slightly at his cousin as he told her, "We'll see."
"You don't want to leave us, do you?" she protested.
"Jen," Aunt Elaine scolded her, causing Jen to pout and go back to eating. "It's Bruce's decision. No matter what he decides, we'll be very proud of him."
This was all so weird as he smiled a little at his Aunt. He wasn't used to all this praise and general normal family time. It was usually why he didn't say much when he visited and did visit very often; half the time he never knew what to say or how to respond. All he ever had growing up was his father, and they barely spoke to each other. When Brian was there, it was always tense and quiet before it exploded into chaos. And when his father wasn't there, it was still tense and quiet.
As his Aunt, Uncle, and Jen went back to talking, he went back to eating. He finally finished his plate and was about to get up and take it to the kitchen when Jen stopped him.
"That's my job," she told him as she collected all the plates and utensils and took them into the kitchen.
"I know it's late, but you want some coffee," Morris asked as he stood from the table.
Bruce shrugged a little as he said, "Sure, uh, thanks."
Morris gave him a smile before following after Jen into the kitchen, leaving him and his Aunt alone. He glanced around the dining room and took in the case of fine china and the paintings on the walls and thought that this was what a real family's house looked like. This was what they did during dinner and how they behaved with each other. There wasn't a single piece of artwork in his house except for the posters hanging on his walls. He wasn't even sure if those counted as artwork.
"Something's bothering you." He looked over at Aunt Elaine as he waited for her to continue. "I can tell because you lose all emotion in your face. Everything's in your eyes...just like your father."
Being reminded of how much his was like his father wasn't want he wanted to hear right then. He knew logically that his Aunt didn't mean anything by it, but he couldn't help how it made him feel. "I'm nothing like my father," he gritted out before getting up from the table. "I should go."
"Wait, Bruce, I didn't mean you were like him. I was only-"
"Everything okay?" Morris asked as he walked into the dining room.
Bruce could tell that he was suddenly on alert by the tensing of his muscles and the look in his eyes. Big man. He's my Uncle. He stopped himself from flinching at the sight of the tall intimidating man who was his Uncle as he shook his head. Big man always step on little man. He helped me before, remember? He stepped away without saying a word. His jaw hurt too much to work it loose to speak anyway. Only for his wife...He doesn't care about Banner. Show him who's the strongest there is! Show him you are a big man too! "No, it's okay...I have to go," he said as he walked away.
No one tried to stop him as he left the house and grabbed his bike up. Checking his watch, he saw it was only a little after eight. He had plenty of time to make it before the start of the set. Up until that point he still hadn't been sure if he was going or not. Overall it was the way he was feeling that decided it for him. He was incredibly pissed off and the bike ride wasn't helping to ease his anger any.
He hated when he felt like this. On one hand, he felt like curling up into a ball and screaming. On the other, he wanted to go home and break every bone in his father's body. He did neither as he tried to shut his emotions down and he knew the best way to do it. Making a detour back around his high school, he rode up into the driveway of seventeen year old Rick Jones and immediately went into the open garage. That garage was always open and Rick was nearly always stretched out on the couch along the far wall.
Tonight the red-headed, blue eyed rocker was picking at a guitar, stereo headphones on his head, and a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. At seeing him ride up, Rick smiled, dropped the guitar, and pulled off the headphones then unplugged the headphones from the stereo jack. "Cops in car, and topless bars, never saw a woman so alone...So alone..." The Doors' song "L.A. Woman" filled the garage as Rick said, "Hey, Bruce! How's it going?...Wait, is it Bruce?"
It won't work. "Yeah, it's me," he said as he rode the bike around in a circle before stopping. He didn't get off it as he pulled his backpack off his shoulders and dug around for his wallet.
Rick was the only person who knew about his condition. They'd met three years ago in high school when Rick had been Ken's victim of choice. One day, when Rick was arriving at school, Ken had tried to actually hit him with a car. He'd seen what Ken was about to do and rushed out into the street and shoved Rick out of the way in time. The car had barely missed him or else he was sure he would be in a wheelchair today.
Since that day they'd been friendly with each other. Then once Rick started selling weed to help his single mother pay rent he'd been his first repeat customer. Rick was already going through a box on top of a plastic patio table in the corner near the weight bench. "Motel money murder madness, let's change the mood from glad to sadness..." Jim Morrison sung out as he walked over and took the money from him as he handed him a long thin box that could pass for an incense box if checked.
"Sticking around? I got one ready for you," Rick said as he held a joint up in his hand. "Take a load off."
You can't silence me for long. "Long enough," Bruce muttered as he stuffed the box in his bag as he thought about it while he looked at the time. It would take him less than half an hour to get to Venice Beach and it wasn't even nine yet. "Yeah, okay" he said as he took it and got off his bike.
"Mister mojo risin'..." Jim Morrison's voice sung out.
Sitting down next to Rick, he dropped his bag to the floor beside the couch and looked out over the empty swimming pool in the backyard. He couldn't remember a time when there was actually water in it. Rick prefered to skateboard in it instead of swimming.
"Mister mojo risin'..."
Picking up a lighter off the small coffee table in front of him, he lit up the joint. He leaned back into the couch as he took his first hit while staring out at the sun setting over the houses and palm trees.
"So, uh...Mind if I talk to Joe?"
He blew out the smoke as he looked over at him in confusion. "Why?"
Rick shook his head. "If it's going to be a problem, never mind. He's a funny guy, that's all."
"And I'm not?" he asked in all seriousness as he took another hit.
"Mister mojo risin'..."
Rick lit up his own joint and gave a shrug. "You can be, but most the time you're...serious and uptight."
"Thanks."
"Just being honest," Rick said with a laugh as he leaned back on the couch.
Bruce went back to staring out at the setting sun and sighed as he felt his body relax. Closing his eyes, he took another, longer, draw off the joint before blowing the air out as he opened his eyes. Rolling his head on the back of the couch, he looked over at Rick. "You called?"
Rick smiled a little as he asked, "Joe?"
"Is this a social visit or are you just going to keep staring at me all night?"
"Mister mojo risin'..."
Rick picked up the controller for the garage door and hit the button to lower it. He tossed it on the table as he said, "Bruce still doesn't know about us?"
Joe watched Rick's eyes roam over his body as he licked his upper lip. He took another long draw, held it for a moment longer, and then let it out before telling him, "He prefers peeping into neighbors windows to get himself off than to have actual physical contact with another human being." He leaned into Rick as he reached over to put his joint down and smiled slightly as he said, "I, on the other hand, love the feel of a person's body against mine." He ran his hand up along Rick's thigh before leaning in for a kiss.
"Got to keep on risin'..."
TBC...
P.S.: Just a few notes. Of course Bruce's life is going to be drastically different since Brian didn't get put into a mental institution but instead raised him. Also, he doesn't consciously remember the night of his mothers' death. He just knows what he's been told by Brian and we'll get to that later in the story.
And as for Bruce's voyeuristic tendencies, I think it fits his character, especially in this AU. He is struggling with not only his own identity but his sexual identity as well. I wouldn't say he's not comfortable with it, but with all the abuse he's suffered feeling any type of pleasure could seem like a bad thing whether from a girl or a boy. And yes, I'm writing him as bisexual for this story.
P.S.S: Disclaimer on all songs used within this chapter and future chapters to come.
Now, onward...