"Jessica, please hand back Friday's homework."
Bruce tapped his forefinger anxiously on the top of his desk as the TA made her way down his row, distributing the homework assignments one-by-one. She stopped to give him a brief but alluring smile before sliding his graded work face-down onto his desk and moving on. As soon as her eyes left his, he snatched it up, turning it over only to let out a groan.
B+. Same as the time before. He could have slammed his head on the desk he was sitting at. This professor was going to unwittingly be the death of him. He skimmed through the notes in the margins. 'Excellent work, but take slightly more care during conversions.' Was anyone getting A's from this guy?
Slumping back in his seat, Bruce waited impatiently for class to end. The only good thing about today was that he'd be seeing Tony in approximately fifteen minutes, just as soon as he hit the parking lot. That was his pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.
The professor dismissed them and Bruce rose, bag already packed. He hurried out to the lot, powering on his cellphone to give his friend a quick text to let him know he was on his way.
'Heading to the White House for dinner tonight. I'll catch you at school tomorrow.'
He read it, but didn't process it at first. He stopped walking to read it more closely the second time.
'Heading to the White House for dinner tonight. I'll catch you at school tomorrow.'
What. The. Hell. Tony was over at Steve's? Bruce felt his grip tighten around his cell phone, the plastic creaking in protestation. It was the day's vexations and not Tony's spontaneous decision that was causing his anger to bubble to the surface he told himself. The fact that the one thing he'd been actually looking forward to now wasn't going to be there to enjoy.
He snorted. Then again, it was fair to be a little angry at Tony, wasn't it? Tony had known he was coming over, after all, he'd come over every day of the week last week. Tony hadn't even asked him first if he was cool with it if he hung out at Steve's instead!
Was this because he'd told Tony they couldn't date? he wondered then. Could Tony want to start hanging out with other classmates now because of that?
Bruce gave a hard exhale through his nostrils. He knew there had been nothing hard and fast saying he and Tony would hang out tonight, but goddamn it, he'd really wanted to spend some time with the other teen and unwind after working his ass off today. Yesterday had been Hell too. He grimaced and tried to push the memory of the day before to the back of his mind.
He wandered sullenly over to his moped, keyring on his thumb. Now he had to decide what to do instead. The answer was obvious of course, his curfew dictated he be home in half an hour. But he had no interest in returning home, even with Tony out of the equation.
That was when another possibility hit him. That this had been some kind of ploy on Tony's part to get him to keep his curfew. His friend had expressed multiple times that he didn't think breaking curfew was a good idea, and now he'd gone off to hang out with someone else so Bruce would have nothing to do but 'be good' and go home. His teeth ground together. Well, one thing was for sure, he wasn't going to give Tony the satisfaction.
Decision made, he mounted his bike and clicked the helmet strap beneath his chin, knowing exactly where he was headed.
The levee was extra dark considering the sliver of a profile there was to the moon that night. Gravel ground together under the two tires as he gradually came to a stop and shut off the bike. He allowed his eyes to adjust before walking it over to the nearest tree and propping it against the trunk, and then he removed his helmet and backpack and left them beside it. Taking care where he placed his feet, he moved down the slope towards the water below, stopping on the bank to slide his hands in his pockets and stare at the slowly-moving stream with discontent.
Well, it had been quite a while since he'd been here alone. He took a glance to either side of him. None of the beer bottles from two months ago were around- there must've been a community clean-up since then, or some bum had 'struck it rich' and made off with all of them. Bruce hummed and took a seat on the cold ground, reaching his fingers into his front jacket pocket now to procure the pack of cigarettes Tony had left in his mailbox. This place seemed to have fostered irresponsibility in the past, he may as well partake in the same now. He struck a match on the side of the matchbox and lit up.
He'd been previously sending his friend text updates on how many he'd smoked from the pack, but until now, none of them had been smoked because of the other teen. Right now he was more irritated with Tony than he had words to express, which was probably why he hadn't even gone to the bother of responding to the text his friend had sent him that had put him in this state of irritation. Let alone text him how many cigarettes he had left.
He spent several minutes there sitting on the bank, letting the nicotine flood his system and bring him calm. Like a lot of his flare-ups, it was a matter of spreading out the coals of his emotions and letting them gradually extinguish on their own. Too often he didn't allow his anger enough time to die down, which resulted in an even greater inferno at the wrong provocation. He didn't want to be mad at Tony, and he especially didn't want to stay mad at Tony. He needed to learn how to control this. He needed to so that the two of them…
Could be together.
He gave a difficult, shaky exhale, dragging his fingers through his hair. He'd just have to keep working on it, slowly but surely. Even if it took him to the age of 31. Even if it took forever. Bruce ground out the butt of his cigarette on the sole of his shoe and flicked it into the river before pulling out his cellphone. Propping his tongue between his teeth and lips, he deliberated a response.
'See you then. Love you.'
He stared at it on his screen, as of yet unsent. It felt a little too forgiving and sappy, especially for how rotten he'd felt, but he put that behind him and hit send. If his mom could forgive his dad for his transgressions, Bruce could forgive Tony for this one little one.
Returning the device to his pocket, he stood and dusted himself off, climbing back up the slope to his moped.
He idled up the driveway as he waited for the garage door to finish rattling its way to the top. Once it had, he gave the bike one last good rev to crest the remainder of the incline and nestled it between his mother's car and the wall. He signalled the door shut, hung up his helmet and moved to go inside. But before he could, the door swung inward.
His father stepped into the threshold. Bruce felt his feet move him two steps backward on impulse. "Past curfew. Again," the man said as if he were taking note of something relatively unimportant.
The teenager willed his tongue to work. "I'm sorry, sir. Traffic-" he began, but was harshly cut off.
"You disrespect me with your lies, Bruce. I won't have any more of them," his father said in an immovable tone. He stepped into the garage, shutting the door behind him. Bruce swallowed uncomfortably, a sense of entrapment, both mentally and physically, flooding through him. He'd finally reached the end of his leash then… come to the confrontation. Brian's eyes narrowed on his fidgeting son. "Tell me, what is so difficult about being home when I tell you to be?"
Bruce bit the inside of his lip. The preclusion of lying only left telling the truth. "Nothing," he answered, trying to keep his calm in the face of his old man, "I just don't want to."
His father's fist slammed sideways against the wall, startling the teen. The man seethed a second longer, forcing his fingers to uncurl with a lengthy exhale. "Bruce..." he said slowly, obviously still abating anger, "This recent trend of misbehavior is of great concern to your mother and I. I have not yet broached the subject of your delinquency regarding curfew with her, but I shall not hesitate to do so should this continue."
The teen gave a snort at the 'threat'. "And what's she going to do?" he challenged crassly.
Brian surged forward three steps. "I do not know when you developed such a lip," he growled menacingly, the whites of his teeth bared to the gum. "Or the backbone to use it, but you'd best change your tone."
Bruce stared down the man now not two feet from him, willing himself not to flinch, to not back down. "And if I don't?"
A surge of rage visibly tightened in his father's jowls and the veins in his temples. It was a face Bruce was all too familiar seeing- had it been from his younger years, he knew a slap would have soon followed. The man turned from him with a yell, pounding both fists down on the hood of his car several times until light dents had formed in the metallic surface. Bruce watched warily as his father composed himself a second time with a good measure more difficulty than the first.
'Often gentleness is the answer over forcefulness,' Rebecca's words echoed in his head. Brian straightened from his hunched posture, using two fingers to further loosen the tie around his collar. He erased the malice from his face and voice before turning back to his son. "Bruce, I am going to ask you nicely. Please respect your mother and I's wishes, and trust that we, as a unit, have your best interests in mind, by being home at the hour I have dictated."
Bruce paused a moment to frown, befuddled somewhat by the manner his father was all too suddenly exhibiting. It certainly wasn't about to get the man the obedient 'Yes, sir.' he had come to expect from his son. Not anymore. "I think I can determine my own best interests," Bruce countered.
Brian breathed in carefully as if holding back. "You are rapidly approaching adulthood; it comes as no surprise to me that you feel that way," he admitted, bowing his head in slight deference. "But I believe you should stop and re-evaluate what your mother and I think is best-"
An offended scoff issued from the younger man's lips. "You have no idea how I feel," he broke in suddenly, rapidly growing increasingly angry at his father's passive-aggressive attempts to change his mind. "You never cared to know. The only thing you care about is keeping me under your heel. That's all you've ever cared about, and it's all you ever will."
Brian was silent, perhaps disbelieving a moment. "Bruce, I care about you as my son," he said firmly, but sincerely as he sought to explain. "I care to see my son succeed at all that he's able. And to give him the guidance to do such."
"Guidance?" Bruce spat, slamming his foot down in front of him as his voice raised. "Is that what you're calling it? Ordering me around? Yelling and beating me until you got your way?!"
The father almost seemed at a loss for words at the younger man's outburst. "It… it was erroneous on my part to resort to such conduct in the past," he concluded, apology written into the posture of his shoulders though he maintained a stony visage. "I may have been overly forceful with you… and your mother, at times. But I did so out of love-"
"Don't you dare use that word to try and justify what you've done!" Bruce shouted at him, throwing his backpack to the concrete floor. "Is love the reason why you beat Mom and left me to cry myself to sleep at night? Is love why you never let anyone come over because you were afraid they'd see the marks you left on her? Is it?" he demanded, stepping up close to the man to glare into his face, "Is it?! You forgot what love is! She loved you, she took a risk on you! And look what you did with her trust!"
Brian's eyes were downcast. "The actions in themselves were not loving. Despite the things my anger has driven me to do, I will always love both you and your mother."
Bruce's countenance shattered. That sentiment… he'd heard it before… no, he'd said it before… to…
'No matter how mad I get, I'll always love you.'
...Tony. In this very house. Just after he'd come so close to knocking his lights out.
A sob choked up his throat, tears flooding his eyes faster than they could run down his cheeks. He couldn't believe he was actually hearing this. He wept harder. Over the sounds of his lamentation, he heard his father speaking again... his horrible, wretched bastard of a father.
"I regret that my treatment of you in the past has caused you this level of grief…"
"You regret nothing!" Bruce interrupted, gesturing wildly. "You're just saying that so Mom will love you again!" His lip curled, "So she'll fuck you again! Do you know how much she forgave you? Do you have any idea? You don't deserve her!"
Brian's eyes unfogged, narrowing back on his son. "You greatly overstep your understanding of the situation, young man. And accompany it with filthy, derogatory language. If you were younger, I'd see your mouth washed out with soap."
Bruce snorted through his tears, dragging a sleeve across the underside of his nose. "Oh, but you're past all that now, aren't you? You wouldn't hurt a hair on my head because you love us both so fucking much," he mocked, pacing around his father inside the garage. The man snarled back as he was circled, but Bruce wasn't done. "You think you can absolve yourself by saying you've seen the error of your ways? You think you can erase what you did to her- to me?!" His tears hit the pavement in wide droplets, his whole body shaking with rage and hurt. "Do you have any fucking idea what you did to me? What you made me into?! You made me into you! You made me into the same fucking monster you are!"
"Bruce, this tantrum has gone on long enough," the man commanded, seeking to regain his authority.
"I'm not going to stop because you tell me to!" Bruce yelled.
Brian grabbed him by the collar. "You. Will. Stop," he returned at equal volume.
"I won't!" the teenager thrashed in his father's grip, the soles of his shoes scuffing against the ground. He tried to twist out, but the fingers clenched harder into his jacket. His breath came in quick stitches, heart pounding, his childhood panic threatening to break to the surface. "I won't I won't I won't I won't!" he cried.
His father lifted his other hand.
"Do it! Hit me!" the teenager screamed. "You've been holding back for five years! I know you want to! Just fucking do it already! Hit me! I don't know why you ever stopped! Do it!"
Brian cocked his elbow back, fire in his eyes. In that instant he saw himself reflected in his son's eyes and all at once he knew that behind all the anger was the painful truth. Exhaling roughly through his nose, he unclenched his fingers and let his son drop to the floor, retreating. "This discussion is over," he muttered over his shoulder. The rage was still there, boiling beneath his skin, and still he felt the throbbing urge to swing at his son; he knew that he was standing on the precipice… any more pressure could send him back down the path of violence he was so resolute to keep behind him. He turned for the door. "Go to bed."
Bruce groped for his backpack and found his footing, picking himself back up. His chest was still heaving and he had no intention of doing a word his father said, even if he was tired and had nothing but the clothes on his back. He squared his jaw and clicked the garage door opener on his keyring.
Brian froze at the sound of the door clattering upward, his face twinging. "Where are you going...?" he said, voice low and throaty.
"Tony's," Bruce responded, tossing his bag over his shoulder. "To tell him he was right. That you're nothing more than a fucking coward."
The words didn't hit nearly as hard as the notion that all control was slipping through his fingers. This was that Tony boy's fault. Before Bruce had met the billionaire's disrespectful son, he'd been hard-working and responsible, he'd done the things expected of him without question. But in the months the two boys had gotten to know one another, his son had become more and more of a rule-breaker, more rebellious and ungrateful. And the fact that his years of instruction were being swept away by some whelp, some little punk… it made his vision go red. He strode after his son with vehement purpose, hand clamping tight onto his shoulder to yank him back from his moped, "Bruce, I will not permit you to leave-"
The boy deflected his arm. Brian snarled and made to set his grip upon his son again, only to be thwarted by a block, tangling up their arms and bringing their faces very close. Bruce hissed, "You can't make me do a single thing you say. I'm in charge of myself now." He slapped his father across the face. "Now get off me," he shoved him back.
The older man stood stunned for half a beat, pressing his hand to where he'd been struck. He gave a yell and threw an uppercut. The hit landed, sending Bruce staggering back against his bike, knocking it to the floor. Before he could begin to regain his senses, his father's knuckles connected a second time, snapping his head to the side with the force of the blow and sending his glasses skittering to the concrete. Unwilling to stay down, he scrambled for verticality, only to take a third punch to the ear. He fell, head spinning too hard to stay upright, ears ringing like a boxing bell and a throbbing ache quickly spreading throughout his entire face.
Brian stepped back, his fists still tight and his countenance unreadable. "Remember that you asked me to do this, and the blame does not lie with me," he spoke down at his son, readjusting the collar of his shirt. "Consider your curfew revoked."
Bruce watched as the blurry figure of his father withdrew and went back inside the house. Despite the pain he was in, he felt a chuckle rise in his chest, echoing hollowly in his lungs. He'd won, more or less. Bruce reached for his glasses a few feet away, scrutinizing them to ensure they were intact before gingerly returning them to his face. After a few more minutes, he tested his legs, using his bike to help him stand. He seemed alright, save the swelling he could already feel on the right half of his face; he touched it and winced. He licked his lips, grunting at the sting and taste of iron it returned. Okay, a little less alright than he thought.
He gave himself another couple minutes before righting his moped. He could just fall into bed, battle won, but in light of his freedom from his curfew, he wanted to make use of it. The teen dug into his pocket and pulled out his cell. He'd gotten a few messages back from his friend and they'd stacked up; he scrolled through them.
'Love you too.'
'How was class?'
'Hey did you forget to turn your phone back on? I'm home now. Free to text if you want.'
'Okay seriously is something wrong? You always text me back. This isn't about Saturday night, is it? Because I said it was no big deal. Would you please just shoot me a text or something before you go to bed?'
Bruce rubbed his forehead gently. 'Sorry, I haven't been able to really get to my phone much tonight. I'll tell you about it when I get there. Leave the door unlocked for me.' He gathered his backpack back up.
Tony's response came back in less than a minute, 'You haven't left JC yet?'
'I'll be there soon.' Bruce sufficed. He fired up the moped and coasted it down the driveway, closing the garage door before speeding off.
Tony lay there on the living room couch, trying his best not to check his phone every five seconds. It was naturally a losing battle.
'I'll be there soon.'
He'd stared long enough now that the text had slowly faded out of focus and back in again, and yet he still continued to scrutinize the message he'd been sent. What was there to tell? What had happened with Bruce while he'd been out enjoying himself with friends?
The door handle jiggled, breaking his concentration and he sat up in response. The hinges gave a light creak as Bruce entered into the dim light of the foyer, tempting him to squint but the action hurt so he promptly stopped. He shut the door behind him, but trying to do so quietly out of courtesy for his friend's father.
"Hey, so what the Hell happened?" Tony hopped to his feet quicker than he would comfortably confess to anyone, taking quick but restrained strides towards his friend. When he was close enough to see Bruce's face in the light, though, he knew immediately what had kept the other teen from answering his texts. He felt a rush of empathy, followed by confusion. This was exactly the kind of thing he'd worried might happen when Bruce kept breaking curfew to see him. But tonight they hadn't done that, so what the Hell had happened? Deeper than all of that though, Tony just felt angry. "That bastard," he seethed, fists clenching, "I'm gonna fucking kill him."
Bruce just gave Tony a look over his glasses that said 'No you're not.', moving further inside.
"What happened, Bruce?" Tony asked exasperatedly, staying in place, but turning to face his friend as he walked past. "And I hope you're gonna put some ice on that," he added as an afterthought.
That was probably a good idea, along with some Advil to further keep down the swelling. "I had a talk with my dad about my curfew," he said as if that had really been all the more it was. He set down his backpack as he entered the kitchen. "Coincidentally, I don't have one anymore."
Tony scoffed, put off by how aloof Bruce's answers were. "What, so he beat it out of you?"
The teen shrugged as he scooped ice into a washcloth and bundled it up. "That's what it took. Besides, I kind of told him to do it." He pulled off his glasses, folding them up and slipping them into his pocket so he could press the makeshift ice pack to his face. He hissed lightly at the sensation.
"You told him to hit you. What, you mean he wasn't going to?" Tony's brow furrowed in further confusion. None of this was making any sense to him. Bruce wasn't doing a good job of explaining anything, and he didn't look the least bit upset or shaken over the whole thing. He didn't even know why Bruce had come by at this point. It didn't seem like it was for comfort, in any case.
Bruce sat down on one of the stools, dropping his defocused gaze to the floor. "I don't know. I guess I just wanted to see if he would still."
"That's a pretty fucked up gamble to take; you know that, right?" Tony replied opening the refrigerator and retrieving a can of soda, popping the top and setting it down on the counter next to his friend. "Drink," he ordered.
The boy gave a difficult chuckle. "Yeah." He lowered the ice pack to pick up the beverage and take a long swallow before setting it back down, finding he was growing contemplative upon his friend's questioning. Everything had happened so fast in that garage, and looking back on it now made his head spin. Or maybe that was head trauma. He reapplied the ice. "He tried to tell me he'd been wrong hitting Mom and I," he said sullenly. "That he loves the two of us. That he was trying to be better now."
"My dad..." Tony bit his tongue, unsure whether it would be welcome to mention that his father had said nearly the same thing not too long ago, and had actually managed to deliver on that promise. Tony hadn't believed it at the time either, and they still had a way to go, but the fact remained that it was possible for a tiger to change his stripes. Still, that might not be what Bruce needed to hear right now.
Bruce hadn't seemed to have heard him. He lowered the ice pack again, expression shifting to fury. "I think this proves he was lying."
"Hm," Tony grunted. Nope, definitely not what Bruce wanted to hear right now. "So I'm guessing you're not going home tonight." He shifted on his feet. It was a logical conclusion, unless his friend was looking for a quick lay, which actually wasn't unlikely considering their history. Bruce seemed to handle his family issues in a very... particular way.
Bruce's eyes shifted state again to slight worry. "It's alright if I stay, right? I'm sorry, I just kind of rushed over without asking..." He knew he hadn't thought this through before leaving, but he had always considered the Stark household a safe haven.
Tony scoffed, "Don't be stupid; of course you can." He reached over and took a swig from Bruce's can of soda before continuing, "He's not gonna come pounding on the door, is he?"
The other teen shook his head. "He knew I was going. I told him he couldn't stop me." He adjusted the ice against his face.
"Oh," Tony replied, expression an amalgam of shock and worry, "So... uh..." He cleared his throat, "You want a beer? Snack? Movie?"
Bruce cracked a wry smile at his friend's offers. "We still have school in the morning, you know. I'll take some Advil."
Tony nodded, "Right." He rushed off, disappearing behind the doorway and returning a few moments later with a bottle, "Plain old aspirin okay? I keep this bottle by my bed just in case of emergencies."
"Yeah. Thanks," Bruce took it, giving the other boy a kiss on the cheek.
Tony shrugged his shoulder playfully, "If you get blood on me I fucking swear."
"I didn't," Bruce responded, setting down the ice pack and putting his glasses back on. He shook a couple of pills into his palm. Then it occurred to him to ask. "You've been doing better since… you know, that last attack at my house, right?" He popped them into his mouth and swallowed them down with a gulp of soda.
Tony coughed, "Well, yeah, I mean... no attacks since and… yeah, no problems lately to speak of."
"That's good," Bruce smiled at the news, then drummed his fingers awkwardly on the side of his soda can. "Sorry, I know you hate being asked that question."
Tony scratched the back of his head, turning to look at the microwave as if it were suddenly interesting. Yeah, he used to detest that question. Of course it occurred to him that maybe he had only hated it because of who had been asking. "Yeah, no it's fine," he answered quickly. "Thanks for caring."
That was an odd response, but Bruce wouldn't question it. "You too," he expressed.
Tony nodded, eyes shooting to the kitchen floor. He was being stupid. Why was he insisting upon keeping the most recent news about his condition a secret? The guy had straight up asked him how he was. A few moments passed before he fessed up, "They told me they want me to wear the Holter monitor again. Longer next time."
Bruce frowned, adjusting his glasses. "Did something warrant that?"
Tony nodded again, less firmly this time. He knew he could trust Bruce with the information, but it didn't make it any easier for him to acknowledge, let alone say out loud. "They noticed... similarities in the results from the last one."
There was information missing there. "Similarities to…?"
"To my mom," Tony tried for nonchalant and failed miserably, "Before everything went downhill."
Bruce felt his heart skip at least a beat and a hot tingle of dread and panic on the back of his neck. "How conclusive-?" he started to ask.
"It's not… It doesn't mean that I'm-" Tony took a slow breath and tried again, "They just want to monitor me again for longer. Just to get a better idea. Plus, they put me on this new antiarrhythmic prescription, so… yeah. That's probably gonna help."
Bruce nodded his way through the explanation, concern still clenched tight in his gut. "Yeah, right. Sorry," he apologized again. After a moment he looked back up, "You'll tell me how it goes or if there's any change?"
Tony nodded weakly, "Yeah, of course. Don't worry." In spite of the gravity of the subject, he felt a lot better now having gotten it out in the open with his pal.
Bruce exhaled. "I'll try not to," he said with a slight smile, standing to kiss his friend on the forehead and put the worrisome conversation to rest for the time being. He raked his fingers through the other boy's hair, lightly massaging his scalp. "Want to head to bed? I don't have anything packed but..."
"You can borrow some of my clothes for tonight. And school tomorrow," Tony reassured him, uncomfortable with asking whether Bruce would be returning home the next day. "As long as you need," he settled. "And yes, my toothbrush too."
"Thanks," Bruce nuzzled his nose briefly against the other boy's. Everything worrying him aside, he was really looking forward to sleeping in the same bed as Tony again... wrapping his arms around him, pressing his face into the back of his neck and drifting off… waking up beside him. Those hits he'd taken to the face had been worth it he decided.
"Anytime," Tony smiled before taking the opportunity to steal a quick kiss, "Alright, off to bed. I've been celebrating all night and I'm exhausted."
Two questions popped into Bruce's head simultaneously, and he rolled his tongue around in his mouth as he decided which of them to ask. He caught Tony's hand just as the other boy was pulling away. "Wait. Celebrating what?" Yeah, Tony had made an impromptu visit to Steve's, but an explanation as to why had never been supplied.
Tony almost choked, scrambling to cover for his slip, "Oh. Well, Thor just got a new apprentice delivery boy, so he's pretty stoked about it, and I kind of got strong-armed into joining the party. By the way, did you know he's living with Steve now?"
"I heard something like that," Bruce answered. The situation admittedly baffled him a little, but then again, Phil Coulson seemed to practically live there as well. But it really wasn't any of his business what the Rogers' did. He brushed hair out of his face and licked his lips before voicing his second question. "You're uh… not that exhausted, are you?"
It took an extra second to clue in, but when he had, a chuckle was Tony's only response as he tugged Bruce up the stairs two-by-two. "You're insatiable," he attempted to scold.
A smile wormed its way over the big guy's face. "You haven't stopped obliging me," he pointed out.
"Just remember it's a school night," Tony mock-warned, "So… two, three hours, tops."
Bruce smirked, reaching out to pinch the other boy on the back of the thigh as they entered his room. "Just get your pants off and fuck me."
