Word Count (this chapter): approx. 3900
A/N: This took far too long to post! I've been preoccupied with school, soccer, and broken bones as per usual and this fic had kind of just taken the back seat! However, I am back with 1/2 of chapter 7 done and the next three or so plotted out so hopefully my next updates won't be so sparing!
-Chapter 6: Tolstoy Effect - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
It all got worse when they figured out he was adopted.
Not Loki.
Thor.
It all got worse when Loki figured out Thor was adopted.
Tony wakes up around dinner time. Bruce is still asleep, blankets twined around him, and Tony figures Bruce must toss and turn a lot in his sleep considering the guy was actually in Tony's chest when Tony woke up. And sure, Tony may not care bedding with his bro, but there is a line where bromance becomes uncomfortable, and for him, cuddling is it. Still, he is glad he woke up first. Bruce probably would have had a panic attack if he woke up in his arms and thought he was making Tony uncomfortable. Tony used to think Bruce was low-maintenance and relaxed, but his stress last night was practically palpable. It's always the quiet ones, he thinks.
Tony fixes himself a cup of coffee and whatever scraps are leftover in the fridge. Bruce is comes out ten minutes later while he is eating.
"Hey."
Tony turns around, "Hey—" and stops. Bruce is wearing loose pajama bottoms that sag at the hip and no shirt, his chest sporting the faintest lines of a six-pack. Tony had figured Bruce was just lanky; he hadn't ever pinned him for athletic. Does Bruce play sports? His arms have definition, too. "Muscle-man."
Bruce is confused a second, then laughs. "Right. It's just because I do karate and jog everywhere since neither my mom nor me have a car."
"Karate? But you seem so… pacifistic. Don't the classes cost a lot at the dojo?" Howard had tried to sign Tony up when he was ten, but it ran the same time as robotics club after school, and Tony hated the idea of fighting other people. Everyone should just get along, little Tony had said, and Howard had replied that the classes were for when they didn't. He still never ended up taking them.
"My mom's friends with the owner, and I am friends with the owner's daughter. Romanoff," Bruce says.
"Natasha, right? I think she's in my Progressive Lit. class."
"Yeah. I get free classes there as long as I tutor her in Biology."
"Not a bad deal."
"No it is not," Bruce agrees. "But Natasha can be a little—" He looks at the plate of food Tony had laid out. "Oh, jesus. Sorry all our food sucks. My mom wanted to rush to the store and buy things, but our standard of a stocked fridge is pretty terrible."
Tony shrugs. "I'm on you two's hospitality, so I won't be complaining." He yawns. Bruce catches the motion and yawns himself, stretching his arms and cracking his back.
"My sleep schedule's all messed up now."
"Dude," Tony starts, "you're whole sleep is messed up. When I woke up, you were clinging to me, nuzzled in my chest like a girl."
"Objection," Bruce replies immediately. "I was nuzzled into your chest like a man. Also, was I really? That is insanely embarrassing." Tony looks at Bruce and can tell he feels more worried than humiliated. What's Bruce afraid of? That Tony isn't gonna like him anymore?
"No, it was pretty effeminate, I'm sure." Then after a second, "But don't worry about it. I mean I was facing you too, so we're both at fault here."
"Yes. The terrible fault of a bromance going too far."
"It's like a bad movie plot: Bromance – the friendship that kept going."
"And by going, of course, you mean right up the ass. Total anal annihilation. Analhilation."
Tony chokes a laugh. "Oh my god Bruce, you can't just say that!"
"What? Gay anal penetration? Does that… bother you?" Bruce asks with fake mischievousness. They are playing a game, now.
Tony matches the glint in Bruce's eyes. "No, but I am sure all forms of penetration are foreign too you."
"Well, I'd hope the penetration would be foreign. If not, you're just playing with yourself, and that's no fun."
Are bros even allowed to make masturbation jokes? And how innocent really is Bruce with all this? "Hey, Bruce. You mind me asking you some questions, friend-to-friend, heart-to-significantly-stronger-heart?"
"That last joke was awful, but ask away," Bruce pulls up a seat and sits across from him.
"Are you still a virgin?" Tony asks unabashedly.
"I am sixteen, so yes."
"Have you dated anyone?"
"Like four people, yeah."
"Kissed?"
"Yes."
"Made out?"
There's a tiny smile on Bruce's face. "Once."
"With anyone now?"
"No."
"Want to be?"
"Sure."
"With who, then?"
"Don't care. Someone I wouldn't ruin too badly. Someone I deserve, so probably not anyone too amazing."
Tony wants to say something, but doesn't want to chance saying the wrong thing.
"First kiss?" he asks instead.
Bruce starts to answer then stops, looks up at the ceiling and counts something on his fingers. "Ah, yes. Eric Kripke."
Tony stops. "Your first kiss. Was Erica Kripke? She wouldn't even look at me last year, and believe me, I tried. She is hot, nice going, dude." Tony pats Bruce's back. Bruce smiles, but shrugs out of the touch.
"Erica is insanely good looking, but not my first. She was way out of my league. Still is, probably. Her not-so-identical twin brother, Eric was mine." Bruce really doesn't like the memory. It is stupid and Eric was a terrible kisser. Tony's mouth opens an inch and his eyebrows pop up.
"A guy?"
"Hm?"
"Your first kiss was a guy."
"Yeah."
Tony tries to think of something to say.
"Oh."
Tony is a freaking genius. Word-wizard, Mr. A-to-Z right here. Shakespeare is rolling over in his grave.
"So you're gay?" Tony attempts.
"What? No, Jesus, no. Well, probably not, at least. Eric was my best friend back then, and he got his first girlfriend, and didn't know how to kiss. I didn't either, and I was bi-curious back then after getting worked up over seeing this very inappropriate men's wrestling match—seriously, those things are ridiculous, so we just kind of tested it out, and, well, you know how in the movies they kiss and fireworks go off? For us, it was like someone rubbing two sticks together. In the same direction. No. Fun."
"Oh, well that's good," Tony says. "I mean, I wouldn't have cared if you were… that, but it would have made bed-sharing uncomfortable, and I'd be worried you would start liking me."
"Tony, being gay doesn't mean you have to—"
"No, but being attracted to men means there's a chance. I would feel the same way I do around a girl that is straight or bi or whatever. There's always a chance if the sexualities line up, slim as it may be, and the chance always makes it hard for me to really open up to them, because then if I do and they start liking me, and I don't like them back—which I wont; I don't date—then I will have to tell them, and then probably lose them as a friend too. "
"You sound like you've done that before."
"Her name was Pepper. Best friend in the world last year, a year older than me, showed me around New York and the high school since I moved from Cali. We were friends with benefits, she wanted more benefits, I couldn't do it. I loved her, but I couldn't love just her and just—now it's insanely awkward and we don't talk anymore and I lost someone very important to me just like," he snaps his finger, "that."
"Pepper? She was in my science class. Wasn't she—" Bruce catches himself and stops. "Right. But, well, if I was gay, I would so not be gay for you," Bruce says. He grabs a piece of bread off Tony's plate. "I am more of a muscle-head jock kind of guy. You're far too nerdy; dating you would ruin my rep."
Tony snorts. "Yeah, right. Well if I was queer, you, Bruce Banner, you would be exactly my type. I like brunettes."
"Was your mom a brunette?" Bruce asks. The playful smirk on Tony's mouth drops.
"I don't remember," he replies.
"Oh. Well I was just asking because people tend to go after people like their parents, or parent in your case, because I don't think you are masochistic enough to want to date a mini-Howard," Bruce jokes, but Tony is spaced out and replies late. "And I just totally ruined everything, oh god."
"No. You didn't. You are like her, actually. You have eyes like her, I mean. Brown, pretty. Caring about others' pain. Though you probably don't drink as much as she did." Bruce puts down the toast he was nipping, and looks at him. Eye-contact. Tony recoils. "Sorry if that was a little… "
"No, it's—" Bruce pushes his glasses into place and swallows. "Fine. Absolutely fine. Thank you."
"… You're blushing."
"What? I am not."
"Bruce Banner, you are so blushing."
"Silence, peasant." Did Bruce just call him a peasant? "You are in my castle, you follow my rules. Rule one: the king of the castle does not blush."
"Is it because I said you have pwetty eyes?"
Bruce's [pwetty] eyes turn menacing and he charges. He and Tony play chase through the interconnected rooms until they are tired and dive on the bed. Once on it, they wrestle a bit. Bruce takes the blanket and shoves Tony under it. Tony pulls him beneath the tarp, too. They tangle and twist each other in bedding, and it's idiotic and absolutely childish and Tony hasn't had this much fun in years.
Tony ends up on top, but only because Bruce lets him. Bruce, karate—the guy is a lot more muscular than any Stark is. Still, he's pinning Bruce down with a blanket and his elbows. "Concede, Bruce Tapestry!"
"It's Banner."
"I'll have your name changed."
"You wish!"
Bruce lunges forward and now Tony's trapped against the bed, head angling off the side. "My, your room looks splendid upside-down."
"Shut-up, Stark."
"Make me."
"That a flirtation or a threat?"
Tony just laughs. It's fun. It's simple. Non-stressing, and he bets this is the first time Bruce has felt this relaxed in a while, too.
(Tony is right with that conjecture.)
Years earlier, Thor and Loki are only eleven.
Anna Karenina opens, "Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way." Loki wasn't a genius, but he could understand the quote, even at age eleven when Thor decided they needed to go on a classical literature binge and picked up every translation on Don Quixote and Anna Karenina he could find. Thor, of course, became way too invested in the former, and the latter struck an emotional chord with Loki. How glad he was that his family was one of the happy ones.
So, naturally, Loki's world collapses when Odinson casually, very casually, reveals Thor isn't blood.
It's at a doctor's office; Thor broke an arm at highly-intensive eleven-year-old football practice, and as Mr. Odinson is filling out the papers, the nurse asks about his relation to the patient. Loki hears the answer.
"Well, me nor my wife are Thor's," the next word is whispered, "birth parents, but we have complete custody, and have since he was one."
The nurse just nods then helped Thor to the X-ray room with a big smile as though she hasn't just devastated Loki's everything.
See, because Thor isn't the only one who takes books too seriously. Loki didn't want an Anna Karenina family. He wants to be happy; he wants his family to be happy. Happy families are perfect, and even though Loki is only eleven he knows that his family no longer fits that mold, and never, ever will.
Tony's back in school two days later. He takes the school bus for the first time with Bruce. You have to wake up at five in the morning, he learns, but Bruce's house is one of the first stops, so they get to sit on the bus for an hour talking and sharing earbuds and songs between Tony's iPod and Bruce's mp3 player. Bruce has a playlist called 'Terrible Music,' which consists of the most atrocious punk, pop, and hipster attempts at progressive rock Tony has ever heard. He looks at Bruce intensely and whispers deadpan that they needed to dissemble these artists before they mate. Bruce's laugh is like bells exploding.
The day drips by laxly. Tony had finished most his make-up work in recovery and at Bruce's, and now is only left with a few quizzes and tests to take. In gym last period, Thor, Loki and Mr. Odinson are all missing. Tony asks if Bruce knows where they are, and Bruce tells him to ask Steve. Steve, however, ducks away from his glance with something when Tony accosts him. It takes him a second to identify it.
Pity. Steve is avoiding him because pity. Steve Captain-A-fucking-merica is not allowed to pity him. He is Tony Stark, a fucking genius who makes Steve Rogers look like an ant, not some weak, helpless nobody who can't even handle himself. Bruce picks up on Tony's anger, and puts a hand on his shoulder.
"Hey, Steve," Bruce asks, keeping his hand in place. "You see any of the Odinsons anywhere today?"
Steve seems to have an easier time talking to Bruce. "Family outing. That's what Thor said at least. Loki wasn't answering my texts."
"Oh," Bruce says. Tony scoffs.
"Doesn't Loki always say he isn't Thor's family?"
"It's kinda complicated from what I get. I'd ask them, but whenever I do Loki looks like he's going to knife me and Thor just gets really—" Steve meets Tony's eye, which is apparently a mistake because he immediately shies away "—upset and weird. Speaking of… weird, how's your… thing. That happened," he says to Tony. It's unfair and annoying and Tony just wants Steve to treat him normally.
"Thing. That happened. Right." Then again, if Tony can't punch Loki out today, Steve may do. "None of your business."
"I just want to help," Steve says, wiping a bit of dribble off his cheek. "No need to spit at me."
"Don't flatter yourself. I wouldn't want my saliva getting contaminated," Tony says. He turns away and starts to ask Bruce something, when Steve grabs his shoulder and whirls him back around. The touch is notably harsh.
"Okay, you know what, Tony? I really don't see your problem with me," Steve forces through his teeth. His voice is quiet, but it feels like he is screaming. "Because I have done nothing but try to be nice to you from day one, and even now, after you've gone through hell and back, and I just want to say sorry and know how you're okay, and you won't even give me that!"
Bruce sends Tony a signal that says 'Leave it alone.' Tony appreciates the gesture, but ignores it. He steps away from Bruce, towards Steve.
"Well, for one, you dress like you're from the 18th century and your biceps—biceps are the fancy-people names for the muscles in your arms, if you didn't know—weigh more than your brain. Really, a pretty face and some fake 'niceness'; Take that away and what are you?"
Steve gapes. "I am not taking this. Not from you. Not when everything special about you, Tony Stark, comes from your father!"
That's it. Tony smiles, arches his arm back and—
The speed at which Bruce grabs his arm is lightening. His grip is more like iron. Fucking karate. Tony is fuming; he's surprised Bruce's hand isn't smoking where it's holding his arm. "Let's all relax here, alright?" Bruce says.
"Yeah. Relax, Tony," Steve says. It's mean. Steve is being mean but he thinks he has earned the right to not care for a class. "Do what your boyfriend tells you."
"One, despite popular belief, my boyfriend is Matt Smith, not Bruce, and, two, I think you need to relax before your panties ride any further up your ass." Tony tugs on Bruce's grip. Bruce doesn't falter. "Princess," Tony adds with a sneer.
Steve bites his lip. "Okay. Okay fine. I—me? I am done with this!" And he throws his arms up stomps out. "You win you ass!" And he just walks out of the gym just right as the substitute comes fumbling in with a clipboard overflowing with papers. She peaks over it, messy hair and big glasses skewed, and asks, "Are you guys allowed to do that?"
"He… had a pass for the nurse's office?" Bruce says slowly, and Tony cools himself off to attest.
"Alrighty then," teacher says, not believing a word. "This week we're doing Yoga."
The teacher stays for the five days; the Odinsons are gone for a week. Bruce manages to waylay any Steve-Tony scuffles, mostly because he is stronger than Tony and able to make Steve feel guilty enough to not want to fight anymore. Bruce tries to word Tony out of it too, explaining that Tony can't exert himself like that during recovery, that Steve isn't worth it (though, Bruce never thinks physical violence is 'worth it'), that Tony shouldn't let small things bug him, and Bruce's attempts fails miserably every time. It's on Friday when they're on the bus home that Bruce actually manages to get something akin to reason out of Tony.
"Bruce. Listen, I know all your pep-talking is for my greater good, and I am surprised you haven't flipped out on me yet for how stubborn I am being—" Bruce is surprised on that, too, "—but if you make the 'don't sweat the small stuff' argument one more time, I am going to rip my hair out."
"That would be a good thing. You'd finally get rid of this nasty thing." Bruce glides the back of his nubby fingernails along Tony's stubble. They lingers a second too long before returning back to Bruce's knee. "But seriously, you shouldn't worry about things, words especially, that aren't true and won't matter in a week. It's… I have a lot of problems myself, and that is a huge one of them."
"No, Bruce, your problem is that you have a high-level anxiety disorder and don't want to burden your mom by telling her about it, so it goes untreated, which only makes it worse and worse. At least that's what I've gathered from this week with you. I mean, only you could have a borderline panic attack because you thought I was ticked you had the last of the Cheerios. My problem is that I have America's Sunshine telling me I'm only special because my piss-poor father."
Tony says the first sentences like throw-aways, but Bruce hears them all the same. How does Tony know? Bruce wants to ask him, but right now it's Tony's turn for angst. "Which wouldn't bug you if you thought it was a total lie." Tony purses his lips and looks out the window. Bruce sighs. "And it is a total lie." A beat. "But you don't think so?"
"I think that because of who I am, I have more opportunities to be special than anyone else. Let's be fair, you're just as smart as me. Smarter at some things, but you probably would have gone through hell and three ways back to get through college to get a good job, or wouldn't have gotten one at all despite your brilliance because society sucks like that. No matter who I was, stupid, smart, I would still have a high-paying job, an important job, and the best education money can buy just because my family can afford it. It's just a bit depressing, I'll never know if I have what it takes to make it from the ground up. If I'm already on a pedestal. But, I can't feel bad about it, obviously, because people who are on the ground have it a million times worse. So when Steve says I'm only unique because my dad, I can't exactly counter the fucking argument."
"Tony. Listen to me. You are absolutely brilliant, and just because people have it worse, it doesn't mean your problems aren't as important." When Bruce's mom had been suffering from depression after having him premarital, she had never told him about it because she worked on people every day with heart conditions or who were starving and really needed help. She thought she could just stop being sad, but she couldn't. It's why Dad left. "Really, Tony. I'm not lying."
"But still, it's obnoxious for a rich person to complain."
"Money doesn't buy happiness."
"Clearly, you've never seen what type of lab equipment a forty million dollar grant can get you."
Bruce laughs.
He laughs a lot and maybe it's so Tony will laugh to. He does join in after a second, and once Bruce calms himself to giggling, he looks at Tony smiling wide and is suddenly aware of how the way they're sitting mashes their thighs together and that he can feel Tony's body heat through the fabrics. He's aware his heart is beating a step too fast and that he laughs a little bit too long and Tony's grin makes him forget the hiss of bus and car that usually drives him mad. "Clearly, you need to take me to Stark Mansion," Bruce says.
"Yes, right after my stay at Banner Manor is done."
The bus pulls to a stop and they get off. Bruce is carrying Tony's books because their geometry teacher smashed them today, and Tony isn't allowed any heavy lifting. "Please, please, never call it 'Banner Manor' again. My mom calls it that."
Tony laughs. "Seriously? Oh my god, she totally would." It makes Bruce want to laugh too, but he keeps himself to a smile that doesn't falter even a quark until they're back in the apartment. Around Tony, he honestly can't stop smiling.
Then they step in the apartment.
Bruce stops smiling.
Bruce's mom is on the floor in a pile of vomit. He drops his books and runs to her.
"Mom?!"
No answer.