The view was pitch black in every direction, for miles and miles. The only light seemed to be shining upon some vague silhouettes, like halos, barely illuminating their indifferent features. Tony called out, but no noise escaped his throat. He reached out, and what he felt was neither air, nor anything wholly solid. Pulling his hand back, he could see it was coated with a thick, tar-like substance. And then, almost like he'd pierced a hole in reality, the viscous, inky darkness started to flood in. He could feel himself sinking. In panic, he clawed at nothing. He reached out, screaming soundlessly to the uncaring individuals in the distance, even as the weight of the darkness crushed in on him. Why weren't they coming for him? Couldn't they see him? It hurt so much. He couldn't breathe, it was like he was sinking into cement... His chest... it was burning... What was that ringing in his ears?
Tony woke up with a strangled groan and immediately knew something was wrong. His alarm clock was flashing and blaring out its deafening chime, but he didn't have the strength to swat it off the nightstand. His heart was pounding like a jackhammer and the pain was causing the edges of his vision to blur white. Tumbling out of his bed, he crawled along the floor at a tortured pace, scouring the discarded clothing littering the floor for his mobile phone. Wait, he broke it on Friday, hadn't he? Damn it. After a short panic, he remembered his bottle of aspirin on the nightstand. Grabbing onto the bed frame and dragging himself up, he snatched up the open bottle and popped one into his mouth, swallowing it dry. Taking a few laboured breaths, he pawed at his bracelet until he found the lifeline alarm button, signaling the nearest ambulance to haul ass to his address.
Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew it was Monday morning and he was supposed to be getting up for school. That pain in the ass alarm clock might have just saved his life.
i'Thank God I didn't plan on skipping,'/i Tony thought to himself, trying to maintain his breathing as he waited for Emergency Response.
Bruce sat in the waiting room, hunched over and holding his head in his hands as he tried not to shake. He'd been in that state for the better part of an hour, pretty much since he'd gotten his mother checked in and she'd been wheeled through the doors. The scene wouldn't stop playing in his head- the way Brian had grabbed her arm and twisted... the sickening crack, her shrill cry... Bruce fisted his fingers into his hair. He wanted to give the bastard what was coming to him. He wanted to-
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the doors pushing open. His head snapped up. A familiar face was stomping his way out of the ER, in a pair of pajamas and carrying a handful of paperwork.
Tony stopped mid-stride when he met eyes with Bruce, and for a second it looked like he might turn tail and run. The fuck was he doing here? Nobody was supposed to know! He tried to calm himself, but panic won over and he bolted for the discharge counter. He still needed to confirm his insurance, and check to make sure he still had no emergency contacts since the time he'd had his old man's number replaced with one of his old cell phone numbers to keep the bastard out of where Tony was convinced he wasn't welcome.
For the life of him, Bruce couldn't figure out why the boy from school was here, especially in his PJs. Certainly hadn't been who he was hoping had come through the doors, and he let his head droop once more to stare despondently at the linoleum. Maybe if he just laid low, Tony would go on his way and leave him be. But he recognized that was probably too much to hope for.
Seeing Bruce did bring back a few of the more confusing memories from that past Friday, most of which Tony couldn't hold on to while battling his demonic hangover that following morning. He did remember feeling safe, and putting at least a small amount of trust in this guy. Maybe this was his way of reaching out, in some screwed up way. He had no idea, but he needed to clear this mess up right now and prevent a bigger one from spreading through the student body.
Tony steeled his nerves, and pushed away from the counter, assuring the receptionist that all his information was correct. Taking another heavy breath he strode cautiously over to where Bruce was sitting, plopping down in a seat facing him.
Called it. Too much to hope for. The other teen grimaced and turned his head away.
"How did you find me? Who told you I was here?" Tony huffed out through his nose in frustration and confusion. Then he noticed the look of pain and worry still present in Bruce's eyes.
"You're not here for me..." Tony voiced his realization out loud, his voice a whisper. He needed to be wary of the other patients, knowing Bruce's preference for privacy.
"Shit, man. Are you okay?" He went to put his hand on Bruce's shoulder, but stopped short, hovering, not sure if it'd comfort him or set him off.
Truthfully, Bruce didn't know how to answer that question. Nor was he sure he wanted to. He tried his voice, which was rough and scratchy. "My mom broke her arm," he gave the concisest and most general answer he could as to why he was here.
Tony figured there was more to the story than that, but he spared Bruce the knowing look. Something told him that Bruce had already said more than he usually would.
"Ah. That should be no problem for these guys," he said, eyes drifting towards the coffee machine. He probably needed to get going soon, but...
"Well, hope it doesn't happen again," he continued, putting a little more weight on that sentence than the others, "Yeah, that sucks." He slid in a few quarters, put the paper cup under the dispenser and pressed the button. Black coffee wasn't that much of a gift, so he could probably get away with it.
"Drink." Tony said plainly, leaving no room for dispute, holding out the paper cup of steaming liquid to the other teen. He owed the guy for not asking him any questions, regardless of his own situation. For once he was actually glad that the focus was off of him.
Bruce's eyebrow lifted at the offering in front of his nose, surprised by the generosity. He lifted his hand to take it. "'Kind of pushy'?" he quoted with amusement before putting the edge to his lips and blowing on the surface.
Tony chuckled, "Damn straight."
Bruce took a slow careful sip of the hot beverage, the steam briefly fogging his lenses. He hadn't eaten or drunk anything since he'd woken up earlier that morning, so it was welcome on his throat and stomach. He lowered his drink, absently running a thumb over the glued ridge on the side of the cup as he fell back into a brooding silence. He was appreciative that Tony had chosen not to pry. This wasn't the first time he'd brought his mom here to the hospital thanks to his father's handiwork. Bruce had tried to ignore it, but it was indisputable, this was becoming more and more frequent. There wasn't any 'hoping', this iwould/i happen again. His hand clenched suddenly, crumpling the insignificant paper cup. The scalding liquid overflowed onto his fist, but he seemed immune to the pain as he stood, throwing it to the ground with an angry yell. All eyes in the waiting room snapped to him, and that was when the double doors swung open again.
Bruce's breath caught in his throat, rooted to the spot. A nurse was wheeling his mother out in a wheelchair (as per regulation), her arm in a sling that wrapped around her shoulder and held her cast. A few other bandages had been applied to other scrapes and wounds she'd come in with. "Bruce, honey?" she asked worriedly, having heard his yell.
The teenager dashed forward to come to her side. It didn't matter that Tony or anyone else was watching, he just needed to be close to her. He kneeled down and wrapped his arms around her with a gentleness he only reserved for her, pressing his cheek into her shoulder and squeezing his eyes shut. "M-mom..." he choked out; he was a tangled mess of emotions- rage, bitterness, despair. It took everything he had to keep it in. It felt like he was five years old again... the very first time he could remember his mother being struck by his father. He was no less lost and hopeless now as back then.
"I told him the coffee was hot," Tony muttered nervously, his voice cutting through the air. He wasn't sure exactly what he was doing, but he guessed it was probably not a good idea to make the guy's mother stress any more than she probably was. He shot Bruce a telling look, before turning to his mom, gesturing to the puddle on the floor, "Dropped it right in his lap. He needs to stop spacing out like that."
He shifted from foot to foot nervously for a moment. The reality of all this was a little too much for him right now. Who knew what kind of hell Bruce and his mom were dealing with at home, and these people were staring at them like they were some kind of freak show. He felt sick to his stomach, and he leveled a glare across the entire room, causing more than a few to stop staring, knowing they'd been spotted. "I... gotta go. Feel better, Mrs. Banner."
It was so surreal to see Bruce let all his defenses down at the drop of a hat like that. In that one moment, he was content to be nothing more than his mother's son. All that pain came bubbling up to the surface right in front of him, and Tony didn't know how to take it in all at once. It made him think about ihis/i mother. Maybe that's why his eyes were welling up. He didn't mean to break off into a jog, but he just had to get out of there.
The woman gave a soft coo, using her uninjured arm to run her fingers through her son's curly locks. "Mommy's okay now, sweetheart... don't worry." Bruce looked up and she smiled at him wistfully. "We should go home so you can get to school."
At long last Bruce turned to look at Tony, as if only now remembering he had been there in the waiting room with them. But the other teen was no longer anywhere in sight. It caused him to frown momentarily before dismissing any further thoughts about the other boy. He gave his mother a tiny nod and stood, holding out his arm to help her out of the wheelchair so they could head out to her car and he could drive her home.
An elderly woman tapped him on the arm. "I think your friend left this," she said, extending Tony's manilla folder of paperwork.
Bruce readjusted his glasses on his nose. "Oh... um, thanks," he said awkwardly as he took it, not bothering to correct her mistake about the nature of his and Tony's relationship. He'd put it in his backpack and hand it off to him during class when it was convenient. With that, he took his mother's hand and wrapped his other arm around her side protectively to keep her steady as they walked out into the parking lot together.
"Bruce?" she spoke up softly. He lowered his chin enough to peer down at her questioningly. A smile spread across her lips, "I'm glad to see you're making friends again."
The sentiment punched him in the gut. Bruce forced the feeling down and put on a fake smile with a nod, not having the heart to disappoint her with the truth.
He got back to school right as lunch period was ending. Bruce ignored the gnawing in his stomach as he dashed across campus to get to his fifth period class, which, coincidentally, he shared with Tony, since English III was a required course for all Juniors, and both of them had been put in the advanced placement session.
He entered and glanced around. Tony wasn't there yet, and Bruce had to wonder briefly if the other student hadn't just taken the whole day off rather than just the morning. After all, he hadn't asked Tony why ihe'd/i been there at the hospital. Who knew, it could have been something serious. Bruce frowned, squeezing at the strap of his backpack. Then again, the kid had seemed his regular self.
He came in and found his seat, dropping his bag at his feet to pull out his binder, pencils, and assigned book. His fingers brushed over the treatment folder from the hospital, realizing he could find out for himself why Tony had been there rather easily. Bruce shook his head and opened up the novel to the page he'd last dog-eared. It wasn't any of his business and he had more important things to worry about.
Class went on as usual for the remainder of the period, and Bruce was so deep in his notes, he almost didn't notice when their teacher, Mr. Cray was called to the door a few minutes before the bell sounded. When he returned to his desk, however, he cleared his throat and called the class to attention,
"One more thing, before you all pack up." He gazed around the room. "Anthony Stark will be absent for a few days. He's recovering from a tonsillectomy and if anyone would like to volunteer to drop off his homework and notes, we already have a packet put together in the office. Please stop by and speak to Principal Cressman. That's it. See you tomorrow."
A few over-eager students jumped out of their seats and raced toward the door to volunteer, pushing and shoving one another, no doubt lured by the promise of ice cream that Tonsillitis often brought and the fact that they were talking about Tony Stark, richest and most popular boy in school and who wouldn't want the excuse to hang out with him and a few gallons of ice cream of every flavor imaginable? Bruce frowned at the file folder still present in his backpack and sighed.
Tonsillectomy. Riiight.
Grumpily, the teenager stood from his seat and proceeded out of the classroom to the principal's office. The other students were still squabbling outside about who should get to take the packet (a couple girls were even pulling one another's hair). They didn't see Bruce as a potential threat, so he easily bypassed them and made his way in.
"Ah, hello, Bruce, how is your mother?" Mr. Cressman asked, having heard from him earlier that morning when he called in.
"Better," the student didn't bother to elaborate. "Mr. Cray said there was a homework packet for... Anthony. I already have to go to his place after school, so I thought I could take it."
"Alright, yes, good," the man nodded, rolling his chair over to grab said packet from the file cabinet. "Here you are," he slid it across his desk to Bruce, who calmly picked it up and slid it into his backpack. He said his goodbyes to the Principal and hurried off to his next class before the other students found out he'd stolen their golden opportunity right out from under their noses and had to punch some teeth in.
Eighth period came and went and Bruce left school, tracing his way back to the Stark mansion. He shut off his moped, kicking the stand down to lean it against the curb and frowned at the formidable gate before him. A quick glance around brought him to a buzzer that was positioned below a security camera. Bruce frowned; he didn't much care for the situation, but he depressed the button and waited for an answer over the sound system.
Tony sat up in bed at the sound of the buzzer going off. Normally it would bother him to be called out of bed, but it wasn't like he was getting much rest anyways. The drugs from earlier hadn't completely worn off, but he wasn't feeling dizzy or lightheaded since before leaving the Emergency Room, so that was a plus. It would still be a while before he would need to go out and fill those prescriptions. Overall, he was actually feeling pretty good for someone who had been struggling to breathe no more than twelve hours earlier.
The truth was, what was keeping him up was his own thought processes. He couldn't really seem to let go of that anxiety that he felt in the waiting room earlier. Bruce's bond he and his mother shared was a reminder of something that he could never hope to have with anyone who was supposed to love him. It was a reminder that for all the hate that he held for his father, he still hoped beyond hope that they could have had that kind of bond, that his father could have at least iwanted/i that kind of bond.
He slid out of bed, shoving those thoughts aside as best he could. That buzzer was a welcome distraction. Someone was outside, probably some shameless ass-kisser with the homework that he had requested for himself under his father's name. It was a wonder that the faculty still couldn't see through his impersonations, though since puberty his voice had grown to be very similar to his father's.
He made his way to the front door where his end of the intercom was mounted and paused. He didn't want whoever it was asking questions.
i'I can't give 'em any reason to think I didn't just get my tonsils out.'/i
He swallowed, clearing his throat,
"Who's there?" his voice echoed out of the intercom, in what would have been a fairly decent impersonation of man calling out sick from work. Unfortunately for his ruse, it didn't take much common sense to know that a tonsillectomy wasn't done in the ER.
Bruce felt his eyes roll. He pushed his talk button and delivered flatly, "Tony, knock off the bullshit and get out here, I have your homework." He paused and added, "And your hospital treatment paperwork."
"Shit." Tony said out loud, the intercom echoing his statement. He looked down, realizing his thumb was frozen on the depressed intercom button in shock, "...Fuck. God dammit Bruce, why didn't you say it was you?! I'm not doing this for fun, you ass!" He could feel his cheeks heating up all the way to his ears. This guy needed to stop pulling this surprise shit. Tony didn't do well with chaos if he wasn't the one causing it.
Bruce tapped his foot impatiently against the concrete; he had half a mind to leave Tony's shit on the curb outside. "Neither am I. Are you coming out, or what?"
His reply was another buzzer and the sound of the gate unlocking. "Sorry, come in. I just didn't think it was gonna be you again is all." The intercom cut and Bruce looked up to see the front door of the mansion open. "I can't come out!" Tony called out, standing in the now open doorway. "Doctor's orders. And I'd bet my life there's gonna be a gaggle of students coming by with well-wishes and who knows what else in a few minutes. I'd rather not be out in the open when they do."
Bruce was quickly growing irritated. He leveled a stare over his glasses at the boy standing out on his step, refusing to come out any further. "Doctor's orders? How about I do a little fact-check on that?" he threatened, waving the folder of documents at him from afar; from Tony's earlier accidental exclamation through the intercom, he knew the other student was hiding something, and he was ready to blow his little lie about his supposed 'Tonsillectomy'.
Tony felt his stomach drop. "Bruce, c'mon..." He looked at the other with pleading eyes, "Don't read it." When he received no response, he felt the panic start to rise in his chest.
"You ican't/i!" He wanted to run up and snatch the folder from Bruce's hands, but his legs were frozen in fear. Blood was pounding in his ears and his palms were starting to sweat.
Bruce shot him a look of 'Like Hell I can't, watch me.' He lifted the outer portion of the folder and glanced down at the page. He was slightly startled when he saw the 'Reason for admittance:' and had to read it a second time in disbelief. 'Cardiac Dysrhythmia', that couldn't really be... Bruce looked up towards Tony again, dumbfounded. "I don't..." he started over. "You..." The teenager was rarely tongue-tied, but this... this really hadn't been what he'd been expecting. He thought Tony was bluffing, faking to get out of school, but arrhythmia was a serious medical condition.
This couldn't be happening. It wasn't. He wasn't seeing this. Tony wanted to run away, to go back inside, shut the door and never come out again. He shuffled backwards, leaning back on his doorframe for support. He clenched his teeth and took a few deep, shaky breaths, eyes still locked on the person who now stood silent before him.
"I iwhat/i?" Tony spat.
Bruce closed the file folder. He coughed into a fist and proceed to take his walk of shame up the driveway. When he got to the front step, he held out Tony's things with his head down, feeling contrite and not wanting to establish eye contact. "Sorry," he said. "I'll um... be on my way."
"Not this time," Tony said firmly, "You don't get to run away from this."
Tony exhaled. His insides were still in turmoil, but he remembered what his physical therapists had said about deep breathing. He needed to get his heart rate back down. Getting angry wasn't going to help. He needed to get this weight off his chest. Literally and otherwise.
He held the front door back. "Get inside. I'd rather not explain this to the entire Tony Stark fanclub." His eyes were harsh around the edges, and they still weren't breaking contact with Bruce. He wasn't sure if it was a good idea or not to bring the other teen inside at this point, but if he was going to know the truth, then Tony wanted to deliver it personally. He retreated into the entrance hall.
"Shoes by the coat rack. Living room's to the right," he gestured lamely. "Sit down wherever. I'm getting a drink." He threw a deadpan look back in Bruce's direction, "What do you want? OJ?"
"I'm, uh... fine," Bruce assured, feeling even more awkward than ever. He hesitated at the entrance before finally setting foot inside. The teenager removed his worn penny loafers to cautiously position them under the coat rack as instructed. With a reluctant slowness to his gait, Bruce set the two folders down on the coffee table and sat down in one of the less expensive-looking armchairs to wait for Tony to get back.
When Tony returned he was holding two glasses of what looked like orange juice, "If you don't drink it, I probably will later."
"No chocolate milk fountain?" Bruce joked, perhaps uncomfortably. He held out his hand to take the beverage.
Tony let out a short laugh, handing it to him, "Maybe if you'd spoke up instead of playing polite I would've checked."
"Right," Bruce kept his responses to a minimum, still uneasy about this whole encounter. He took a large drink, only to make a face when he swallowed it down. "Oh God, did you spike this with vodka?" he asked between coughs.
"Takes the edge off," Tony shrugged, "I think we both could use a little less edge right now."
Bruce couldn't disagree with that, so he took another much smaller drink.
"Plus, it makes it harder to taste the Rohypnol," Tony said offhandedly.
The other student gave him a look, pulling the lip of the glass away from his lips.
Tony snorted, causing his drink to bubble up around his lips, "Relax. As if a guy like me needs to use roofies," he reassured the other boastfully.
Despite Tony's reassurances, Bruce leaned forward and set the screwdriver down on the coffee table. Anxiously, he began to wring his hands, wondering if Tony was ever going to cough up his story or stall forever. He wanted to get back home and check on his mom before he had to go off to the JC.
Tony rolled his eyes, snatching Bruce's glass up, and taking a long sip before setting it back down on the coffee table again, "There. Now we're both fucked." He paused at his words. He took a swig of his own drink. i'I guess we kind of are.'/i Tony thought with a sigh.
There was a pregnant pause, before Tony finally straightened out in his seat and opened his mouth to speak.
"They can't determine the cause of it, but they think my arrhythmia is hereditary. My mom died in the ICU of heart failure when I was six," Tony inhaled sharply, "I wanted to see her, but my dad..." He clenched and unclenched his fists.
"I had my first serious attack when I was eight years old," he said; Bruce listened solemnly and respectfully, not interrupting. Tony gestured a hand in the air. "One minute, you're playing tag in your best friend's backyard, next minute you wake up and your chest is stitched up and you're surrounded by people telling you how lucky you are. And all you wanna know is what happened, and why you have all those tubes in you, and who all these people are."
Bruce watched as Tony emptied his glass before he spoke again; the teen blinked away the wetness in his eyes, "At eight years old I learned that I could die like that at any time. I hadn't even had my first kiss yet, and I'd been marked for death."
Tony's despondent demeanor took Bruce aback. Suddenly things began to click into place. The show-off, the trickster, the playboy, the king-of-the-mountain, all of Tony's attitudes sprung from the fact that his time left on earth was indeterminable. That all of it at any moment could go up in a poof of smoke and Tony Stark, genius billionaire prodigy would be no more.
Bruce opened his mouth to speak. "You've never told anyone this," he more stated than asked.
Tony looked down, expression unchanged, "My dad, obviously, and a few doctors and physical therapists I had. And my girlfriend. Ex. She didn't handle it well, was too afraid she'd break me or something. Most people treat you different when they find out you're not like them."
Bruce knew that one; he looked at the floor and gave a "Yeah."
"I don't think I could handle everyone keeping me at a safe distance. It's bad enough when your own father does it at the expense of raising you..."
Bruce wet his lips. "Well, you don't have to worry; I won't tell anyone," he said. What more icould/i he say? Sometimes life was shitty; Bruce knew it first-hand. His life wasn't peaches and cream, and he never pretended it was. Maybe that was the difference between he and Tony.
Tony let out a shaky sigh as he let his head drop, "I'm not telling you because I trust you. Though I guess I kind of have to now..." He shook his head and waved his hands briefly as if to dismiss what he had just said. "I mean I do trust you, but I told you because I had to tell you."
"Fair enough," Bruce said, rising up from his seat, intending to go.
"And not because you outed me. I just... I'm not gonna tell you how to handle anything in your own life, but ieveryone/i deserves the opportunity to bitch and moan every once in a while. You'd be surprised how much it can help sometimes." He gave Bruce a knowing look, "Now I owe you one, fair and square."
Bruce felt his forehead crinkle with disdain. "'Bitching and moaning' changes inothing/i," he spat at the other teen. All at once hurt and anger swelled up inside him. "Not for me." He stalked off to snatch up his shoes, knowing if he spent any more time here, he just might end up socking the other student.
Tony sighed. The mood had shifted instantly. Bruce was angry with him now, more than likely for a very hypocritical reason, considering the metaphorical nerve Bruce had exposed earlier that had started this whole thing. Luckily, though, Tony knew how this worked by now. If he made a big deal about it, it only made it worse.
"Bruce hold up..." Tony called him back, before rushing into his room, the sound of cabinet drawers sliding and folders being moved around before he trotted back, handing Bruce a manilla folder, "Tomorrow's homework assignments. You know which teachers these all go to right?"
Bruce scowled and practically ripped the file out of Tony's hands. "Yeah. But you'll have to find yourself a new errand-boy for tomorrow; lucky for you, you have your fan-club," he said with contempt.
That was the last straw. Tony knew deep down that his pride had no place in this, but it felt like he had to say something in his defense. If he didn't, this was going to keep going on in a circle forever.
"Look, Bruce. I get that you're angry. I even get why. But really man, what have I ever, iever/i, purposely done to you for you to lob these bombs at me? I can understand if you're attacking my approach, or my manner of speaking, or Hell, even my breath. But you can't just keep twisting my words around until they offend you. I gave you a piece of advice, offered you a listening ear. Apparently that's offended you so deeply that you've forgotten that advice can be ignored, and just because I'm willing to listen doesn't mean you have to tell me anything. If having the option pisses you off that much, I really don't know what to do about that. I'm not going to stop offering, because in spite of how much of a stubborn ass you can be, I like you, and I'm not going to treat you like I hate you or I'm afraid of you just because that's what you're comfortable with." Tony's chest was heaving. He got angry, yeah, but he was glad he managed to keep it clean this time around. Better not to leave that guy with anything to dwell on but himself.
Bruce felt his walls crumbling down around him, chipped away at by Tony's words. Anger melded into surprise, surprise into fear as he stood rooted to the spot. His fingers trembled with pent-up emotion, throat too dry to form a response even if he had one. He shook his head just barely, finally managing to take a single step backward. "L-l-leave me a-alone..." he got out, the plea barely audible. Two more steps back. "Please just... I don't want..." he whimpered.
Tony felt like he'd been punched in the chest. Sure he'd meant to say everything he had, but he almost didn't recognize the person in front of him. Had he done all that? Why was Bruce in shell-shocked now? In this state there was no way he wanted this guy to run home, ride his moped or even take a goddamn taxi. Not until this shit calmed down.
"Bruce. Bruce, relax. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you or anything, I just... Are you-? What's wrong?"
Bruce grabbed at his head, pushing down on his ears. "Nothing's wrong... nothing," he repeated, volume growing as he spiralled deeper. "Nothing! Nothing! iNothing!/i" he yelled and bolted out the door.
"Bruce! What the fuck?! Wait up!" He went to chase after him, but stopped mid-stride to grab his car keys off the hook by the door. He slammed the gate lock button, hoping he had done it quick enough in his panic.
It took Bruce two beats to register what had been done, the wrought iron swinging on its hinges to close. He pumped his legs harder, but he wasn't going to make it. His mind was a blur of panic- all he knew was that he ihad/i to get out, ihad/i to get away, nothing else mattered. He couldn't even remember what he was running ifrom/i anymore.
Tony shot like a bullet out the front door, eyes scanning wildly until he spotted Bruce running headlong for the gate. He was panicked, and Tony knew at that moment that caging this guy in at his most paranoid may have been just as well as Tony signing his own death certificate. Something was seriously wrong. But even if he'd have to take the hit, he wasn't going to let Bruce out in this state. Somehow, this was his fault. He'd triggered this. God, what the hell had he done?
The gate made a resounding noise as it slammed itself shut. Despite the metal barrier now in front of him, Bruce leapt at it, feet catching momentary purchase on the vertical steel beams. It was enough to vault him high enough to grab the top of the gate with his hands, beginning to scramble up it.
"Bruce! Oh God what the hell is going on here?!" he babbled, looking side to side for any idea of what to do.
Finally, he came to a decision. While it wasn't the wisest of choices, it was the first coherent one that came to his panicked mind, and he ran with it. Worst case scenario, he could chase after Bruce on foot, potentially lose him. Best case scenario? Well, the gate wasn't ithat/i high.
i'He'll be fine. He'll be fine...'/i Tony reassured himself, hitting the open gate button on his key fob, toggling it back and forth as he ran, hoping it would shake Bruce's grip and slow his climb down at least. His heart was pounding, but he tried to ignore it for the moment, focusing on one goal, vaulting onto that gate with all his strength. He was closing in, and with a leap and a prayer he pushed off the ground and extended his arms, the force of his impact shaking the gate a little. By a stroke of luck he'd managed to latch on to one of Bruce's legs, though closer to the ankle. He grit his teeth and held on like his life depended on it, only realizing now how much more strength it would take to climb.
Bruce's head snapped downward as soon as he felt the fingers encircle his ankle in a death-grip. He saw Tony, but his face didn't register. In his place, Bruce saw the face of his father. The teenager cried out, fingers almost slipping from the bar, but he held fast, maneuvering to give his pursuant a sharp kick to the head.
Tony didn't hold on for long after that kick. Falling to the ground he toggled the button on the key fob a few times, trying one last time to shake Bruce off. He needed to ignore the pain now throbbing in his jaw and figure out what to do. Then he had it. Stopping the gate half open, he stood on the inside of the fence, alert and waiting for Bruce to clear the top. As soon as the other teen let himself fall, Tony reached out through the bars and grabbed Bruce mid-leap by his ankles, which had the effect of pivoting in him mid-air.
Bruce's palms and forearms slapped the concrete, glasses falling off his face and skittering a fair distance. Stunned by the hard landing, it took him a moment to scramble to his feet, and by the time he was up, Tony had dashed in front of him, hunkered down and arms out like he was out on the basketball court, blocking the path to his moped.
Bruce made a dash for it anyway. Tony's arms wrapped about his midsection, hindering him, but his vision was darkening around the edges, the world collapsing in on itself. He flailed his arms and battled perhaps three steps before blacking out, slumping into Tony's arms.
"iShit/i," Tony swore, panting as he checked Bruce for signs of life. A quick pulse check told him that Bruce was definitely unconscious. Good. He could breathe now.
Setting the other's limp body down for just a moment, he went in search of the boy's jettisoned glasses. Upon finding them miraculously in one piece and fairly free of any scuffs that weren't pre-existing, he hooked them into the collar of his tee shirt and went back to Bruce's now peaceful form. With more than a little effort he managed to heft the deceivingly heavy form onto his back, looping the other's arms around his neck like a backpack.
i'A stubborn, homicidal, defeatist, heavy-ass backpack,'/i Tony amended. He stood up after two failed attempts, pressing the portable gate button one last time to close it. Then he carried his friend inside and into a guest bedroom. He felt like his back was going to give out, so he sat Bruce on the floor as safely as he could. He needed to get some rest himself, but he knew Bruce's mom would worry. He didn't know the Banners' phone number, and he didn't dare search the body in front of him for it. With a sigh he pulled the smartphone out of his left pocket, glad to see the screen hadn't cracked in the scuffle. It was a good thing his pet project had graduated the beta stages over last summer vacation.
"JARVIS. I need a list of all females with the surname Banner in a twenty-five mile radius. That's B-A-N-N-E-R."
The list popped up on-screen, which was quite short. "Will that be all, Young Master Stark?" the AI queried.
"Can you narrow that down to all listings with children ages fourteen to nineteen?"
"I surmise this is the entry you are searching for?" All of the entries vanished, save for one Rebecca Banner, married to Dr. Brian Banner, whose son David Banner was shown in the Junior College records. Tony quirked his eyebrow.
i'David? Hm...'/i The family's home address, landline, and a few other scant pieces of information followed.
Tony swallowed. What if Bruce's dad picked up? There was no mobile number under either of their names, and it was a big risk that could make everything worse. He steeled his nerves.
"JARVIS. Dial home number for Dr. Brian and Rebecca Banner. Prefix with star-six-seven. That'll be all for now." The AI went silent and dialed.
Rebecca heard the phone ring from the living room and she walked over to take the corded receiver off the hook and bring it to her ear. "Hello?"
Tony gave a sigh of relief on the other end of the line, "Is this Mrs. Banner?" he asked, more out of habit than curiosity. He ihad/i pretty much done a full lookup on her already.
The young voice on the other end of the line made the woman tip her head curiously. "Yes, who is this?"
"Oh, I'm sorry! This is Tony. Tony Stark. I'm in classes with Bruce. Is my number not popping up again?" Tony responded, trying to sound as sincere as possible.
The mother's lips pursed with slight worry (as mothers were prone to do). Rarely ever were phone calls in regard to her son... good. Though it had been years since a fellow student had called the house... not since elementary school, when little Betty Ross would call asking for permission for Bruce to come over and play; regardless she remembered it like yesterday. Tony Stark... the dots connected, yes, she recalled seeing him that morning in the hospital. "What can I do for you, Tony?"
"I was just gonna let you know that Bruce is spending the night here. He stopped by here earlier to drop off my homework and go over notes together." Tony grimaced, hoping she didn't ask about why he wasn't in school. "He was gonna leave for JC or something, but he seemed really tired so I convinced him to crash here for the night. I'm sure he would've called you, but he's out like a light right now."
"Oh my," she spoke, "well, he did have a stressful morning... poor dear." A small smile spread over her features. "He works so hard and expects so much of himself. Just like his father..." there was mixed admiration and sorrow in her words. She paused then, realizing she was ruminating. "Forgive me, I'm prattling on; it's a mom-thing."
Tony's jaw clenched involuntarily. That bastard was probably the reason he worked so hard in the first place, "No, no, it's fine. Bruce doesn't really talk much about it, so I was kind of surprised. He probably just needs a good long sleep," he looked over to his unconscious friend on the floor and forced a chuckle into the phone, "He was so out I barely got your number out of him." He paused for a second, before adding, "I hope he's not in trouble or anything. He's probably not making it to JC tonight."
The woman smiled softly against the ear-piece. "I'm sure one absence won't hurt his record. It's very sweet of you to have him over." She thought a moment and then added, "I'm surprised too, it's been a very long time since Bruce has had any friends." Though she didn't explicitly say it, the sentiment conveyed her gratitude that the young man she was speaking to had reached out to her son.
Tony sighed, "He's a cool guy, Mrs. Banner. Just not big on letting his walls down. I don't judge him for... well you know how he is. No offense."
Her eyes shut a moment at the truth of that statement. "None taken. Thank you for calling, Tony."
"Thanks for understanding. I'll give you my number here. Call if you need anything."
After a quick exchange of numbers, Rebecca thanked Tony once again and hung up.
Tony exhaled with relief, crouching down by Bruce once again, "Probably don't have to tell you, but you're really lucky, big guy." He noticed the slow rising and falling of his chest, "Plus, you get to sleep while I do all of the work here, fucker," he pouted, more for himself than the young man laying before him. With another bout of back-breaking effort, he hoisted him into one of the armchairs.
He figured he ought to check the guy for injuries. "Okay, buddy, time to get that jacket off." With a fair amount of difficulty, Tony managed to hold up Bruce's torso long enough to slide his jacket off.
He examined the other's forearms, finding nothing too worrisome aside from a few scratches here and there from the fall. The palms of his hands were pretty raw, but it was mostly scratches and no big cuts that he could see. He checked Bruce's head and neck a little more closely in the indoor lighting, and for a second time, nothing raised any alarms. His head, neck, and forearms were what Tony was most worried about, so he was fairly certain the big guy would be alright now. He decided it'd be best if he left Bruce's jacket off, hanging it on the hook on the inner side of the bedroom door.
"While I'm at it I'd better prep you for bed, man," he said out loud as he walked around to the foot of the bed, slipping off one of Bruce's penny loafers.
"I should go burn these," Tony chuckled, shaking his head. "Ever heard of sneakers?"
Bruce only responded with a twitch and snore.
Upon removing the other loafer, he noticed his ring finger had a smear of blood on it. Curious, he rolled up that pant leg and pulled the sock off. The was a shallow cut on Bruce's ankle, no doubt from one of Tony's nails when he tried to trip him up earlier. It was already dry, thank God. He didn't need bloodstains on the sheets when he transferred him over there. He checked the other ankle more thoroughly a second time, and put the socks in the loafers, dropping them by the foot of the bed.
"I think that's comfy enough. Hope you don't have anything sharp in your pockets though." He thought for a second. No. Bruce could live with a pocket full of pointy things. Tony needed to get him in bed and then worry about what to do next.
"Last time, Bruce. I promise," Tony said with a resigned sigh, lifting the other student up one last time, and dumping him as gingerly as he could onto the bed, which was just soft enough not to wake him up. He stirred a bit though, fingers gripping at Tony's shoulders before slipping away with the tiniest whine. Tony was caught off guard, not expecting the small movement, and stood up and back as if he were just caught doing something he shouldn't be. He shook it off after a beat, stalking around the side of the bed and sitting down with a huff on the empty side. He rubbed at his eyes, his exhaustion catching up with him.
"Okay, man, it's been fun," he sighed, leaning over to pat Bruce's sleeping form on the arm, "But I'm getting the fuck to bed," he said, and was about to slide off the bed again. He hesitated, noticing Bruce seemed to be mouthing something incoherently as he tossed a bit. He couldn't read the words, but they weren't completely silent either.
"What's wrong? Do you need something?"
The words managed to penetrate into Bruce's subconsciousness. On bad nights, Bruce could remember his mom coming into his bedroom... the way she held him, wiped away the tears streaming down his cheeks... the feel of her soft fingers as she threaded them through his short messy hair... how she rocked him back and forth until he finally fell asleep in her arms. In his state of deliriousness, he couldn't tell Tony from the woman he loved, and after the emotional distress he had just been put through, he longed for the same comfort she had once given him as a small child. The boy reached up to grab the hand resting on his arm, clutching to it desperately in his sleep. "...Don't go..." he murmured imploringly, eyes still shut.
Tony froze, another shiver running through his entire body. He tried to pull his arm away slowly, but Bruce's grip on his hand got stronger when he pulled away, and he started to whimper again. What could he do?
"Thirty minutes. That's it, otherwise you're gonna kill me when you wake up." Tony sounded like a defeated parent negotiating bed time, as he slipped off his house shoes and socks hesitantly and sat up closer to Bruce in the bed, pulling his legs up. This was probably a really, really bad idea.
Bruce sensed Tony's nearness. Without a second's hesitation, he rolled over to slide his arms around the warm form now beside him, squeezing protectively tight. His head settled in the crook of Tony's shoulder, breathing out a deep sigh of relief.
Tony's heart stopped in his chest for a full ten seconds.
"Very funny, big guy, now let me go." He made to squirm out, but Bruce had leaned his weight fully against him and his fingers clung to his midsection like a vice.
Okay, yes; this iwas/i a really bad idea. Alarm bells, fire alarms and air raid sirens were going off in his head and his heart was pounding a mile a minute.
i'Oh my fucking shit... this is how I'm going to die. The front page of Wednesday's paper is gonna say 'Heir to Stark Incorporated found dead of heart attack in arms of secret lover. When questioned on the scene, primary suspect attacked and wounded six police officers after insulting them for no reason'. Fuck. My. Life.'/i
He needed to get out of there, but Bruce wouldn't let go, and even the slightest of struggles caused the other teen to reel him in closer, until their bodies were practically flush with each other.
Swallowing, Tony tried to think of a way out of this. He took slow deep breaths, trying to slow his heart rate back down. It was working, but now he was hyper aware of Bruce's warm breath on the back of his ear, and the arms wrapped snugly around him. He wished he could be bothered, but he could count the times he'd been this close to someone on one hand, and it felt... well, it felt nice. As strange as that should be.
This type of closeness filled the empty spaces he seemed to have whenever he wasn't busying himself. It made him feel cared for, made him feel safe. God, the last time he could remember being held like this, it was before things had gone south with Pepper. Their fallout was a painful one.
When he'd finally told her about his condition, her behavior around him deteriorated slowly until she was doing nothing but worrying over him and his heart. She had no life of her own by then, and they no longer had that passion for each other that used to keep them interested. All they had by the end was intimacy and denial. And he had forgotten how much he had missed the former.
He felt his eyelids start to get heavy, as he settled into the other's embrace. Fuck it, he could take a punch to the jaw for this if he had to.
