Thanks to my beta, irite, who's fantastic.

Warnings: nothing major for this chapter. Minor violence, I guess.

Saturday morning dawned bright and clear, though a little bit chilly. As he made his way towards the library, Bruce made a note to himself to see if he could get another year out of his fall jacket. He thought he could—he hadn't grown much in the last few years—but it was going to be pretty close.

He sighed. The alternative was asking his parents for a new one. While his family could afford it, he wasn't going to ask if he could help it. Waiting would be preferable, even if would be a little uncomfortable.

He sighed again.

Then he thought about how he'd agreed to spend his Saturday morning, and he sighed again.

Natasha had crept up on him Friday as he'd been making his way towards his sixth hour world history class, and Bruce had done his very best not to jump when she'd just appeared next to him and said, "So, Clint says he'll meet you at the library tomorrow morning at 8:00. That good for you?"

Bruce had been hoping, desperately, that Natasha had just miraculously forgotten that he'd agreed to tutor Clint. After all, she hadn't said anything about it since Thursday morning. But he gave what felt like a very tight, forced smile and replied, "Uh, sounds good."

Natasha nodded, walking next to him in the hall like that wasn't likely to get something thrown at her. "I'm thinking $10 an hour? Maybe one or two hours a week?"

Yeah, he wasn't going to argue with that. "Sure."

"Great. I'll have Clint wait for you by the reference desk."

And then she'd melted away in the crowd, only to appear exactly two minutes later in their class, exactly as the bell was ringing.

Strange.

Okay, it wasn't like tutoring was a huge inconvenience for him or anything. Bruce didn't really have a lot of pressing plans for his Saturday, aside from his usual stay out of the house as long as possible. He had a paper to work on for English, and he had to get through his chemistry problems, but aside from that? He didn't have a lot going on.

So it wasn't like tutoring Clint Barton was going to be an issue.

It was just...Bruce had spent so long pointedly avoiding his classmates that he'd kind of gotten used to it. Now, there were only a few short months left until graduation, until he could get out of his parents' house and and leave this town, preferably forever. And he wasn't at all nostalgic or sad about it. He wanted to get out of here, leave this place behind. Forget all the stupid things he'd done, leave all the people who'd been more than happy to make sure he couldn't forget the stupid things as long as he stayed.

Making connections now, after everything, seemed counterproductive.

"Don't be stupid," Bruce muttered to himself, kicking at a pile of leaves as he walked by. Seemed like they were falling early this year.

"I don't think that's really an issue," Natasha said, materializing out of nowhere and startling Bruce badly. He hadn't even heard her coming. After taking a second to catch his breath, Bruce resumed walking towards the library, silently fuming.

He didn't like being surprised.

"Sorry," Natasha apologized, somewhat offhandedly as she fell into step next to him. "Anyway, what aren't you being stupid about?"

"Nothing," Bruce muttered. He didn't really want to share his thoughts at the moment. Or, really, ever. "I didn't know you were coming."

"I wasn't going to, but I was up." Her expression darkened.

Okay, then. Well, Bruce knew how to drop a topic. The pair lapsed into silence.

It only lasted a block, though, before Natasha bluntly asked, "How'd you get that bruise on your face?"

Bruce's mouth went, suddenly, very dry.

"I noticed it on Thursday," Natasha went on, "But I didn't want to say anything."

And yet, now she did?

Bruce didn't answer, and Natasha didn't press him. After a few minutes of what Bruce felt was extremely awkward silence, the two of them were heading up the front walkway to the library, and Natasha changed the topic abruptly. "Don't tell Clint I'm here, okay?"

She waited for his answering shrug before she slipped away, probably heading for one of the other building entrances.

What a weirdo.

Bruce made his way to the reference desk, mulling over his extremely strange interaction with Natasha. It was the first time in years that anyone had actually commented on the bruises that occasionally discolored his face, and it had thrown Bruce off immensely. He had more or less come to accept that he was invisible, and having that disproven wasn't something he was ready to integrate into his worldview just yet.

Besides, he had more pressing things to worry about.

Clint Barton was standing obediently by the reference desk, though his back was to Bruce because he was watching the clock. Bruce glanced at the time as well—8:02. So he was a little bit late.

He walked up behind Clint and, lacking any real experience in addressing people, cleared his throat.

Clint turned around, hitching his backpack up on one shoulder. "Morning, Banner."

He sounded tired. He looked worse. But he made a decent attempt at smiling as he greeted Bruce, so Bruce followed up in kind. "Morning. You, uh, wanna sit?"

In response, Clint led the way to a cluster of tables in a quiet, sunny nook. He dropped his bag on a table with a thunk and then pulled out his math book, a notebook, and a pencil before flopping into a chair and looking up at Bruce expectantly.

Bruce set his own backpack down a bit more gently before sitting and pulling out his own notebook and pencil. Then, as it seemed like someone was going to have to say something eventually, he asked, "So, uh, what are you working on?"

In response, Clint flipped his book open to a dog-eared page and shoved it across the table at Bruce. "This. I don't fuck—er, I don't get it."

Ah. Quadratic equations. Bruce could sympathize. "Yeah, okay."

There were several seconds of silence before it occurred to Bruce to ask, "Do you have a test or some homework I could look at?" He'd never tutored anyone before, but that seemed like a pretty logical place to start.

Clint dug around in his bag and unearthed a crumpled up wad of paper that had once been, Bruce was able to ascertain upon unfolding it, a homework assignment. He glanced over it, and he was able to pick out exactly where Clint was going wrong. And suddenly, whether it was the fact he was doing math he understood or the fact that he was in a position where someone else actually wanted to listen to him, he didn't know, but he found himself feeling, for the first time in years, like he had something to say. "Okay, so, why don't you try this..."

The two of them worked together for the next hour, and around 9:00, Clint looked up from the problem he was doing to flip to the back of his book and check his answer. Then he looked up at Bruce. "I'm right."

As that was the goal, Bruce figured that was a good thing. He smiled. "That's good!"

The flabbergasted expression on Clint's face didn't change. He just repeated, "I'm right." Then, with more enthusiasm, "Fuck yeah!"

An old woman perusing a newspaper nearby took the opportunity to aim a venomous 'shush' their way, but Clint ignored her. "Do you know how long it's been since I got a math problem right on my own?"

Bruce shook his head.

"Me neither. But I'm right!"

"Quiet, Barton. Don't you know this is a library?"

Bruce wondered if he would ever get used to Natasha creeping up behind him. Probably not.

Clint didn't seemed fazed by it, though. He just looked up to where she was standing behind Bruce's left shoulder. "Whatever, Nat. I got a problem right. I even know why I got a problem right." Then, after a brief pause, "What're you doing here, anyway?"

"Did you honestly think I was gonna leave you here with Bruce and make him fend for himself?" Natasha asked, sliding into the chair next to Bruce. "That's mean." She gestured to the paper Clint had been working on a minute ago. "Let me see that."

Clint handed it over obediently, and Natasha glanced over it. Then she handed it back. "That's good. If we can get you caught up, then maybe we can start working on some of the college prep stuff, too."

At that, Clint's face fell dramatically. But he bounced back quickly. "Sure, whatever. Hey, wanna go grab some breakfast?"

This was directed at both Natasha and Bruce, and it took Bruce a minute to register that. When he did, he stammered, "Uh, I...can't. I have to..."

Honestly, he had no idea what he 'had' to do. The fact was that he didn't really have spending money, though, and he didn't want to admit that at the moment.

As he hesitated, Natasha looked him over in a very astute, very piercing way. Then she said, "Yeah, let's. I'll buy Bruce's as a reward for putting up with you, Clint."

Her tone left little room for argument.

Which was how Bruce found himself heading to a nearby cafe. For breakfast. With two of his 'peers.'

Clint's morning hadn't gone very well.

He'd set his alarm to wake him up at 7:00, but it had also woken Barney up, and Barney did not want to be up at 7:00 AM on a Saturday. Especially given the size of the hangover he had to be suffering through this morning—Clint hadn't heard him come in last night, but he'd smelled him.

So, yeah, waking his hungover brother up at ass o'clock in the morning hadn't been a smart move, and the pair of them had ended up getting into one of the bigger fights they'd had in a while. Usually, Clint and Barney cohabitated in a tense, unfriendly, but non-violent way.

That had gone out the window this morning when Barney had started throwing things.

Clint really didn't appreciate the part where Barney had cracked him in the ribs with an airborne drinking glass, which had then proceeded to shatter on the floor. He'd expressed as much, loudly, and Barney had replied, loudly, and soon the neighbors were banging on the door to get them to shut the hell up.

Typical. Embarrassing, but typical.

So Clint had scooted out of there was fast as he could, barely remembering to grab his backpack on the way out.

He'd stopped to listen at Natasha's door as he'd passed by, and it had sounded like she was still asleep, and he was thankful. He didn't want to be that asshole.

Tutoring with Banner had been...far better than Clint had expected it to be, given what he'd heard. They'd been going to the same high school for four years, and the guy had a reputation. Not a good one.

A very bad one.

Clint didn't know the exact details. No one did, except Banner, really, and from what the rumors were, Banner might not know them, either.

Okay, Banner had never been 'normal.' Clint kind of remembered him from ninth grade. He'd been the shortest boy in the class, which was memorable. And he'd been brainy, too—he'd been in Clint's PE and civics classes that year, and it had been evident that he'd had more aptitude for books than for sports. The combination of being completely unimposing and very smart had been a recipe for disaster, and he'd been a target from day one.

But things didn't get really bad until tenth grade.

In their sophomore year, Banner had freaked out on some guy, a senior, for some reason or another. No one had been around for that part. Clint and the rest of the audience had arrived just in time for the Banner-beating-other-student-half-to-death part.

When a teacher—Mr. Coulson, in fact—had attempted to break the fight up (though it wasn't a 'fight' at that point, Clint knew, it hadn't been a fight for a while), Banner had managed to land a punch on him, too. It had taken two teachers to pull him off the other kid, and then they'd had to call an ambulance for the senior. With the ambulance had come the police, and with the police had gone Banner.

He'd been out of school for a few days, and none of the teachers would say where he'd gone. Eventually, one kid overheard the principal's secretary telling one of the teachers that Banner had been sent for psychological testing, and, well, that was the last anyone heard of it. Banner was back within two weeks, the charges the police had wanted to file against him vanished, and life went back to normal.

'Normal' in that Banner became a total pariah, alternately mocked and dodged and ignored by everyone, including a fair number of teachers.

And as he and Clint moved in completely different circles—Banner was brainy, Clint was...not—the two of them never really saw each other except in those classes that the school didn't offer AP versions of.

Which suited Clint fine. He'd seen—along with a fair amount of the school—what Banner could do, and he figured he'd be okay if he never interacted with the guy. Ever.

But then Natasha had decided that he needed to go to college, and that his math grades were embarrassing, and so she'd sent him up with a tutor. Banner the Pariah.

Banner the Pariah Math Genius.

And yet...it hadn't been so bad. In fact, it had been...okay. Banner was weird, sure, but nothing like Clint would have expected, given the sheer amount of shit the kid got thrown at him daily. Given what Clint had expected. And Nat obviously trusted the guy for some reason, so that was another point in his favor.

Banner was a good tutor, too, despite the fact he was clearly very much above Clint's math level. He had been patient with Clint, hadn't called him stupid once, and he'd made math understandable. And he hadn't been condescending, either.

So. Okay. Whatever. Tutoring with Banner had been okay. But...breakfast with Banner was about as awkward as Clint would have imagined it.

The cafe was a small joint near the library, known for their cheap pancakes and the fact they'd refill your coffee pretty much forever if you stayed there long enough. Clint was surprised to see, upon entering, that Steve from English class had apparently gotten a gig working here; he was bussing tables, but spared their little group a nod as he bustled by.

Once they'd all ordered (and that had been a production in and of itself; Banner hadn't wanted to order anything once Natasha said she'd pay for his), the three of them looked around, sizing each other up. Clint and Natasha sipped iced coffees, but Banner was sticking to water despite Natasha's prodding.

The problem, Clint soon discovered, was that Banner didn't talk.

Which wasn't an issue, per se. Clint knew that he and Natasha could probably keep conversation going between them ad infinitum. But that felt a little rude, so they tried to include Banner.

It was like pulling teeth.

"So do you have any other plans this weekend?" Natasha asked nonchalantly, sipping her coffee.

Banner looked down at the table and mumbled, "No, not really." Then, because he evidently felt something was still required, added, "I need to write a paper."

"Oh yeah? What class?" Clint asked, mostly to be polite, before taking a giant bite of his sandwich.

"Um, English. I, uh, need to write a paper about A Farewell to Arms—"

At that, Clint couldn't stifle his groan. Natasha kicked him in the shin under the table.

"Do you like that book?" Natasha asked politely.

Banner shrugged stiffly. "Er, no. I don't really...get it."

Natasha nodded sagely. "We're reading that, too. In fact, Clint and I were going to take some time tomorrow to go over it. Do you want to come? We can go back to the library."

Clint tried very hard not to let his jaw drop. What the hell was this? One, more studying and two, inviting Banner. It was all news to him.

"I, um. I hadn't really planned on it..."

"They don't open until later tomorrow," Natasha plowed ahead. "Eleven. Meet us there?"

Seeming bewildered, Banner nodded. "Okay. Yeah."

The rest of breakfast was a fairly quiet affair, in that Clint chattered on in his most annoyingly inane way in an attempt to see if he could get Natasha to hit him, mostly for his own amusement.

She was on good behavior, though, and when everyone was finished eating she told Bruce, "Okay, we'll see you tomorrow." Then she led Clint out in the fall air.

Clint was a mature adult, and so he waited until they were a fair distance from the cafe (and Banner was walking in the opposite direction—bless his fantastic eyesight, he could see Banner disappearing down a side street five blocks down) before he asked Natasha, "What the hell?"

Natasha shrugged, stuffing her hands into her pockets. "What? You need to study."

"Yeah," Clint agreed slowly. "But Banner doesn't."

Natasha looked down. "No. He doesn't."

"Then...what the hell?"

But Natasha didn't answer, so Clint tried a different tack. "What're you doing for the rest of the day?"

"I have work to do," she answered vaguely. "But you're welcome to come to my place 'til you have to be at work."

That sounded about a thousand times better than going home. "Works for me."

The invitation came from Justin Hammer.

Tony hated that asshole. They'd met at one of the private schools that Tony had been removed from, and so Tony wasn't even sure why he still had that idiot as one of his Facebook friends.

But Justin said that a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend was having a party, and they apparently thought it would be cool to invite Tony Stark.

Tony was maybe a little bit hung up on the fact that Hammer apparently had friends (because that tool really was odious) but he put that aside long enough to give his affirmative.

After all, he didn't really have any plans for his Saturday night, and you can't really go wrong at a rich kid's party. Even if he was only being invited as a status symbol (he wasn't naive enough to think otherwise), there would still be free booze. Maybe something better than free booze, if he was lucky.

The party started at 9:00, which meant Tony didn't need to bother showing up until 11:00. Which gave him...just over six hours.

He sighed enormously, flopping back onto his bed dramatically. He'd already spent most of the day in the basement, working on various projects, but nothing really kept his interest for more than half an hour at a time. And that had been a frustrating way to spend his day.

It struck him that, given how 'popular' he supposedly was (he had over 3000 friends on Facebook) it was kind of strange that his weekend was completely void of plans. And not just this weekend, either, but most of them. Sure, he sometimes hung out with Pepper, when they were 'on' and not 'off,' or Rhodey, when he wasn't busy doing whatever it was that driven, focused students did, but mostly? He entertained himself most weekends in whatever ways he could.

Which most just got Rhodey to lecture him on Monday.

Tony sighed. He'd thought about calling Rhodey today, actually, but without any definite plans, that was just asking to sit around and get nagged about his unfinished homework and his plans to not ever actually finish it.

Wait. He had definite plans now. And if they were actually doing something, the odds of Rhodey finding time to fit a lecture into their evening diminished exponentially.

Tony stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out his phone.

Rhodey answered on the first ring. "Tony. What's wrong?"

It seemed like a strange way to greet him, but upon reflection, Tony realized that he did tend to call on Rhodey an awful lot when he was in trouble. After all, there had been the 'I'm drunk and lost' fiasco of 2012, the 'I lost my phone oh wait no it's in my hand' incident, and the 'hey Rhodey can you actually overdose on alcohol like is that a thing' situation a few weeks after that.

Whatever. Tony still resented the implication that he only called when there was something wrong. "Nothing's wrong. But one of Justin Hammer's idiot friends is having a party and I thought I'd go."

There was a long pause, and then Rhodey sighed. "Hammer, as in that douchebag you went to school with for two weeks until you got expelled?"

Tony reflected for a moment. "I thought it was more like four weeks."

"No, Tony, it was two. You just didn't tell your parents for another two weeks after that."

Huh. Made sense. "Whatever. Wanna go or what?"

There was a very long pause before Rhodey answered, "Fine. Pick me up."

He didn't wait for Tony's answer.

Shrugging (at least as much as he could while sprawled out on his bed), Tony tucked his phone back into his pocket before rolling over and checking the time. Damn it, that had only taken like, five minutes.

He still had almost six hours to kill.

Well, he could always pregame the party.

Yeah, that sounded like a good idea.

Thanks to everyone who's been reading and reviewing. Reviews make me happy.

The next chapter of this is mostly written, just needs to be edited, so expect it in a week or so.