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human_veilgen / 1.7k / post-infinity war au / getting back together
“Of all the things to happen while I was away,” Bruce starts, “I didn’t think you’d acquire a sixteen-year-old son.”
“Seventeen,” Tony corrects. “And he’s not my son.”
Bruce first meets the kid in the Compound’s kitchen. He’s seen him around before, definitely. Had even been introduced to him once the world had returned to its normal self, but it’d been brief. Fleeting. Overshadowed by the relief that came with winning a war.
This… is different. He’s sitting in front of a counter, hands curled around a hot mug of tea and eyes only half open at the late hour. His attention is caught by a muttered curse from one end of the room, the word promptly followed by the sound of something heavy dropping to the floor. By a loud, pained groan.
Bruce’s head snaps toward the noise, a little more alert now. Careful, he treads toward the heap on the floor, eyebrows raising in silent question when he spots Peter splayed out across the ground, one arm curled around his middle as if to protect it.
“Wha…” he starts, trails off. His reactions are slow, out of practice, but he kicks into motion soon enough. Drops to his knees beside the kid and makes sure he isn’t hurt too bad. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah,” Peter says, and if not for the grimace on his face, it’d be believable. Bruce gives him a look, and the grimace morphs to a sheepish grin. Peter’s face heating with embarrassment.
“Did you fall from the ceiling?” Bruce asks, looks up to see the roof in question. There’s nothing to suggest Peter had been hanging from it, but Bruce knows better than to think that means anything.
Peter nods. “Thought you were Mr. Stark,” he says, grin returning with a newfound light. “Tried to hide. He doesn’t like me being up late—says I’m going to turn into him if I keep st—”
The kid babbles, words falling from his mouth almost too quick to catch. Bruce blinks, stares. Four years ago, someone who could hang from the ceiling would’ve surprised him. Now, not so much.
“C’mon,” he mumbles. Helps Peter to his feet.
“Thanks.” Peter looks himself over, hands patting his clothes as if to dust himself off, before looking up to meet Bruce’s eye. He grins at him gratefully, sticks a hand out to shake. “I’m Peter, by the way,” he says. “Parker.”
“I remember,” Bruce tells him, but he shakes Peter’s hand anyway. “Bruce.”
“I know,” Peter says. And then his eyes widen, like he’s kicking himself internally for saying that. “Uh. Not in a weird way. I just—I’m a big fan. Of your work, I mean. I’ve seen all of your lectures on YouTube. The one you gave at Columbia about Biochemistry is my favourite. I used to fall asleep to it—not because it was boring! I just. They calm me down. I mean—” Peter cuts himself off, clears his throat. “There’s a photo of you in the science labs at school,” he finishes lamely. He looks flustered, his cheeks heated.
It takes a minute for Bruce to process everything Peter has just said, but when he does, he’s surprised. Shocked. A little honoured. People don’t often recognise him for his work, not these days.
“Uh. Thanks?” he tries, and Peter offers an awkward smile.
“Right,” he murmurs. “I’m gonna…” he lifts a hand, points his thumb somewhere toward the door behind him, “go. It was nice meeting you, Dr. Banner.”
The kid is gone before Bruce can say much else, Peter’s back disappearing around the corner in a matter of seconds. Bruce watches him leave, stares at the empty doorway for a moment before returning to his tea.
He has questions. And lots of them.
[]
It becomes apparent rather quickly that Peter isn’t any ordinary trainee; that there’s more to his relationship with Tony than what meets the eye. He’s only around sometimes—weekends, mostly—but Bruce makes sure to pay attention when he is, curiosity increasing with every interaction he sees.
Eventually, he gives in and mentions it to Tony. They’re in the lab, sat in front of the same bench, one of Iron Man’s Nano suits resting on the top. Tony is fixing upgrade errors, screwdriver in hand and tongue held between his teeth in concentration, and Bruce is… Well. Bruce isn’t sure what his job is, exactly. Tony had asked him to come, and so here he is.
“Of all the things to happen while I was away,” Bruce starts, almost tentative, “I didn’t think you’d acquire a sixteen-year-old son.”
“Seventeen,” Tony corrects, barely looking up. “And he’s not my son.”
Bruce arches a brow, notes how Tony doesn’t need to ask who his not-son is. “Where’d you find him?”
Tony sighs, drops the screwdriver to lean back in his chair and look at Bruce. “YouTube,” he says, and he’s grinning like it’s an accomplishment. Like he’s proud of himself. “Viral video—stopped a bus with his hands. Pretty impressive, huh?”
“Tony—”
“And,” Tony continues, cutting off whatever Bruce had been about to say, “he’s like, a genius. You should see him in the lab.”
“Tony.”
“And,” Tony says again, sending Bruce a pointed look, “he’d be out there webbing around town even without my help. So zip it.”
Bruce’s mouth twitches. Obviously, more than one person has voiced their concern. “You really care about him, huh?” he murmurs, more absentminded than anything else.
The way Tony ignores his question and returns to his work is answer enough.
[]
Bruce does get to see Peter in the lab.
Tony walks in one day with Peter trailing behind him, the Spider-Man suit hanging from his hands. The kid seems to vibrate with excitement, his face fighting a wide grin as Tony shuts the door behind them.
“We’ve got company,” Tony tells Bruce, clapping Peter on the shoulder. “Kid’s your number one fan.”
Tony says it with a smirk, ignoring Peter’s wide-eyed whine of his name. Bruce can’t help the small smile.
They settle eventually, working together with an easy sort of companionship. It’s been a while since Bruce has been in a lab, and he feels a little rusty, but he likes it. Enjoys being surrounded by the thing he loves.
And by the people, his mind supplies as Tony brushes his shoulder. But that’s another issue entirely.
[]
The other thing Bruce picks up on quickly is Peter’s apparent lack of a filter. It’s no more obvious than when he settles down beside Bruce in the lab one day, the two of them alone while Tony leaves to answer a call, and asks: “Did you two date?”
Bruce’s head snaps up, gaze zeroing in on the kid. “What,” he says, voice sharp. Possibly even panicked.
Excuses fall from Peter’s lips so fast he stutters. “Well—it’s just—there was always rumours—and the way Mr. Stark talks about yo—”
Bruce watches with something akin to horror as Peter continues, thoughts and emotions running through his mind a mile a minute. “What does he say?” he asks, and Peter looks grateful to be cut off.
“He’s, uh,” Peter starts, hand rubbing at the back of his neck in a classic, awkward gesture, “really glad you’re back.”
He says it in a way that itches Bruce’s curiosity, that has his heartbeat accelerating. He opens his mouth to respond, but the door reopens in the next second, Tony’s familiar frame slipping back inside, and the words die on his tongue.
Tony gives them both an odd look, clearly noticing the weird energy, before he turns to the kid. “You been poking the bear?”
Peter holds both his hands up, as if surrendering. “No, sir,” he says, stepping back from Bruce.
Tony looks to Bruce for confirmation, and Bruce sighs. “He’s fine,” he says, and Tony nods slowly; accepts it with a one-shouldered shrug and extends a hand, a small bag held in his palm.
“Blueberry?” he offers, and Bruce fights the urge to smile.
It almost feels like the old days.
[]
Peter’s words stick with Bruce despite his best efforts, their unfinished conversation one that nags at the back of his mind; one that plays over behind his eyelids when he lies awake, unable to sleep.
The thing is, he’s missed Tony. More than he thought he would. Their relationship had never been the steadiest thing in the world, and his time away has no doubt made it worse, but he still wants. Still finds himself dreaming about old habits. Quietly longing for what was.
The time he’s spent at the Compound has only worsened the matter—has brought up feelings he’s been trying to bury—and if there was a chance to get the relationship they once had back…
Well. Bruce wouldn’t say no.
“Earth to Banner,” comes Tony’s familiar voice, his hand waving in front of Bruce’s face. Bruce snaps out of his thoughts, blinks rapidly for a moment before his gaze settles on Tony’s curious expression.
“Hm?”
“You alright?” Tony asks, slight furrow to his brow. He looks concerned, but there’s a small tilt to his mouth. A little smile.
“Thinking,” Bruce murmurs, steps out of the way so Tony can reach the coffee machine.
Tony makes a noncommittal hum. “Anything interesting?”
“Uh...” Bruce trails off, contemplates saying something before deciding against it. “No.”
Tony gives him a look, expression thoughtful for a moment before understanding hits. “The kid’s been telling you my secrets,” he says, and it’s not a question. He sighs, takes a sip of his coffee before turning to face Bruce properly. “Well. He cried at Back to the Future.”
Bruce’s mouth twitches at the mental image. He tries to respond, tries to deny it, but Tony beats him to it.
“Look,” he starts, “it’s been a while. I understand if you’ve moved on, I was only ve—”
“Moved on?” Bruce asks, voice tinged with surprise. It’s been a while, sure, but Bruce has barely been himself for two years. He’s had very little time to move on from anything.
Tony’s mouth shuts immediately, his expression perking up in the face of potential. “You mean...” he trails off, waves a hand between them as if the motion will finish the sentence for him. It sort of does.
“Tony,” Bruce says. Stops. Doesn’t know what to say. He’s never really been good at this part.
Thankfully, Tony is something of an expert.
“I think we need to talk,” he murmurs. Places his still-full mug back on the counter and reaches to curl his fingers around Bruce’s wrist, the act reminiscent of their early days. “Don’t want the kid to hear. Come on.”
He’s being a smartarse, his tone lighthearted; playful. His eyes are shining with a promise, the look one Bruce had once been very familiar with.
When Tony tugs him by the hand, Bruce follows.
