I’m having the worst craving. I’m craving skinny Steve/skirt wearing Bruce Banner. Can you imagine skinny Steve growing up with Bruce who wears a skirt to school all the time and Bruce getting bullied and Steve being all hell no and defending him even though they both get beat up and then becoming friends cause now that Bruce has a friend he doesn’t decide to build that bomb which means he won’t go to college early or get that army grant that makes him the hulk
At eleven years old Steve saw Bruce Banner go down like a ton of bricks, his head snapped to one side from the force of Brock’s punch. Steve was frozen in shock because he’d never seen a fight like this. All one-sided, three bigger boys surrounding Bruce and tearing at his skirt as he didn’t even try to hit back. He just lay there with his eyes flashing heat and anger.
Bruce turned his head to the side and spit a wad of blood on Brock’s shoe and let them kick him, and Steve’s shock vanished. He set upon Brock with a flurry of hits and punches that seemed to glance right off the bigger boy’s skin, and Brock just laughed in his face.
“Fucking fairy,” he said, and Steve went down with Bruce.
While Steve was still scraping himself off the floor Bruce stood and adjusted his skirt. There was a tear along the side that exposed his pale leg.
Bruce didn’t even look at him as he limped away, and Steve got pissed.
Getting angry was kind of his thing. Some of the stuff he saw in the world just made him boil with it. When he saw Brock shove Bruce against the locker later that week he didn’t hesitate for a second. He punched Brock right in the jaw and Brock actually took a step back, more out of surprise than pain.
Mr. Erskine rushed over. “What are you boys doing?” he demanded.
Brock just scuffed his toe against the ground and looked abashed. “I was just messing around, Mr. E, and Steve got all head up over nothing.”
“That’s not true!” Steve scowled. “He pushed Bruce. And I saw him beat Bruce up last week.”
Mr. Erskine looked shocked and pained. He turned to Bruce and softly asked, “Is that true, Bruce?”
Bruce was looking off to the side, his face completely blank. He shrugged. “Just a game. Steve got confused.”
Mr. Erskine let them all off with a warning to play more kindly with one another and Brock just rolled his eyes before he left. When he and Bruce were alone in the hall, Steve asked, “Why did you lie to protect that jerk?”
Bruce pushed past him. “Don’t pretend to understand me.”
Steve watched him go, confused.
“I don’t get it!” Steve exclaimed, pulling at his hair.
“Oh, hell,” Bucky grumbled. “You’re still on about this?”
“Why would he lie to protect someone who’s hurting him? It’s completely stupid. I’ve seen him in class. We have science together and he’s anything but stupid.”
“Steve,” Bucky whined. “Quit worrying about it!”
“He must have had some reason.” Steve began to pace the room. “Maybe he’s worried Brock would hurt him more later? But that’s stupid. I’d protect him.”
Bucky grabbed Steve’s pillow and held it over his face. “Just suffocate me now.”
“And if a teacher knew they could protect him, too. It just doesn’t make sense.”
“Steve,” Bucky said forcefully enough to momentarily snap Steve out of his musings. “Listen. Next time you two get your asses whooped by Brock let me know, okay? I can help.”
Steve lifted his chin. “I can handle this myself.”
“Clearly,” Bucky said, and buried his face in the pillow again.
For a while, it went like that. Steve sort-of-on-purpose found himself near Bruce each time he got beat up and jumped in to cuss out Brock and his gang and take the worst of the blows for himself. Bruce would always stand up first and dust himself off and stroll away like he didn’t have a care in the world while Steve lay there seething.
Until the day Steve stood up first, and offered his hand to Bruce.
“What is your fucking problem!” Bruce was suddenly standing, shoving Steve’s hand away and looming over him. Steve hadn’t realized he was taller. “Can’t you see I don’t want your help!?”
Steve held his ground and took a deep breath. “Can’t you see I’m going to give it to you anyway?”
“Argh!” Bruce whirled around and punched the wall with a sickening crack. Steve winced. “I don’t need this in my life! Everything was fine until you decided to play hero.”
“It wasn’t fine! You were getting beat up!”
“I can handle it!” Bruce glowered at him. “Do you think I’d still dress like this if I couldn’t? What I can’t handle is someone else getting hurt when I’m the one who deserves it.”
Steve’s blood ran cold. “What? What are you talking about? You don’t deserve to get hurt at all.”
“Whatever, Steve,” Bruce growled. “Just leave me alone from now on.” He turned and walked away, shoulders hunched and feet falling heavily on the ground.
Steve wasn’t real good at following directions.
One day at lunch Brock knocked Bruce’s sandwich in the ground. Steve offered him half his tuna salad. Bruce glowered, but he did accept it.
Then there was the pencil he handed Bruce in science class. The way he shared his book when Bruce’s got torn to shreds by Brock. After that it was summer vacation and Steve kept an eye out for Bruce, which was easier done if they both hung out at the malt shop drinking sodas. They’d walk home together kicking rocks down the street. There was the time Bruce was cornered in an alleyway, but Steve had brought Bucky and managed to put away his pride long enough to get him to help. After that Brock didn’t bother them so much, but he still wanted to keep an eye on Bruce so he stuck around. They went back to school and studied together and took walks side-by-side and Steve found himself complimenting Bruce’s skirt choices daily, and Bruce would smile at him so prettily that Steve wanted to do it even more. Bruce taught him about keeping his anger on a simmer instead of a constant roiling boil. Steve taught him that it was okay to stand up for himself.
When Steve was sixteen Bucky threw a pillow at his face and shouted, “You’re in love with him, you idiot!”
Steve stared at the pillow in his hands, flabbergasted.
Bruce gazed out the car window at the passing streetlights. “So, where are we going?”
“I, um, just wanted to talk to you. ‘Bout something kinda important.”
Bruce turned and smiled at him, and Steve’s heart fluttered. Yeah, he had it bad. “How mysterious, Mr. Rogers.”
Steve laughed nervously. “Yeah, I’m very mysterious.”
He drove them to the outskirts of the park, where they could look at the trees but no one would bother them for a while. Steve turned off the car and gripped the steering wheel hard. “I’m really bad at this,” he began.
“Steve, wait,” Bruce said. His voice was soft and quiet. “I-I’m sorry if I’ve been bothering you lately?”
“What?” Steve blinked at him.
Bruce looked embarrassed and heartbroken. “Are we done? As friends? I know I do stuff sometimes that seems like asking for trouble. And the skirt thing…” He plucked at the aforementioned garment. “I guess it was cool when we were kids, but now–”
“It’s still cool,” Steve insisted. He turned awkwardly in his seat and reached over to take Bruce’s hand. “It’s cool because you are. I just, what I wanted to say is that I like you,” he said in a rush. “And, um, I don’t want us to be done as friends, but I also want to be able to do other stuff with you because I think you’re neat.” He tried for a smile, hopeful.
Bruce blinked. “Oh,” he said, voice small. “I’d never thought of that.”
Steve pulled away. “Well then, I guess that’s just fine. No need to worry; I won’t bother you with this again.”
“Hang on a second,” Bruce said, raising his hand to stop Steve. “I didn’t say I didn’t like it. Just that I have to think about it a little more.”
“Oh,” Steve said, relieved. “So we can still hang out?”
Bruce smiled. “It’s a beautiful night,” he whispered. “And we’re here in the park, so it’d be a shame to waste it.”
Together, they walked the long paths through the park, winding through trees and hills and stopping to squint in the dark at flowers. Bruce picked a little daisy and handed it to Steve with a shy smile. He interlaced their arms and Steve held him close, elated.
“I have to tell you something,” Bruce said, staring into the dark.
They were sitting side by side on a cool concrete park bench. Steve leaned closer. “You can tell me.”
Bruce took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “The reason I live with my aunt is because my dad killed my mom.”
Steve froze, shocked. He didn’t know what to say so he didn’t say anything.
Bruce went on, “I wanted to tell you because…sometimes I see him in myself. And I try really hard everyday not to be like that. To never fight anyone or hurt anyone, but I’m worried.” His eyes glittered in the moonlight. “Steve, if I ever hurt you I need you to leave me.”
“Bruce.” Steve reached for him blindly and found his hand. “I’d never leave you.”
“No!” Bruce insisted. He pulled away and curled into himself. “I mean it, okay? Even once and you have to promise to leave. Otherwise we can’t do this.”
Steve gulped. This all seemed way over his head. He was just sixteen; not really fit to deal with this, but here it was, happening. And it was only side-ways happening to him. It had really happened to Bruce. Was happening. But he knew that when Bruce was serious, he was really serious. He trusted Bruce enough to know it wouldn’t happen, but that it would make Bruce feel better to promise. And it was a promise he had every intention of keeping anyway.
“Okay,” Steve said quietly. He reached for Bruce again and this time Bruce let their hands tangle together. “I promise I will.”
Bruce relaxed minutely. He let out a startled chuckle. “Okay then.” His voice was all scratchy. “Maybe this could work.”
Steve squeezed his hand, grinning hugely. “Yeah. Maybe it could.”
