Congratulations to last year Emmy Winner @markruffalo on your Golden Globes 2021 nomination in the Best Performance by an Actor in a Limited Series, Anthology Series, or a Motion Picture Made for Television category for your incredible dual performance in I Know This Much Is True 🥰
Based on several jokey conversations about Bruce being the third Birdsey (Banner) brother and how endlessly woeful the book/show is, I wrote this for @twentyghosts ‘s birthday.
Some disclaimers: I mix and match some different canons but it doesn’t really matter because I don’t spend time with a full world merger or even a rough timeline. Dominick is homophobic, I joke about how relentlessly dark IKTMIT is and the things that make it relentlessly dark, and I don’t treat a single thing with gravity or seriousness at all. That being said, I barely include Thomas because I didn’t want to make him the butt of jokes.
For all intents and purposes, Bruce was an only child. That was his story and he stuck to it. After his mother died and he murdered his father, he cut off contact with everyone from his past--only child. None of his living family members were powerful mischief makers like Loki, who could pop up unexpectedly and cause all sorts of trouble for the team, so there was no reason to warn them beforehand, nor did his bloodline include any geniuses who could lend them a helping hand, like Shuri. Only child.
Except Bruce wasn’t an only child. He was a middle triplet. Somewhere in eastern Connecticut dwelled two dead ringers for Bruce Banner.
He was sure they--at least Dominick--“got that a lot” from strangers: “You look like, you know, the Avenger, the green guy when he isn’t green.” But instead of the traditional response of “Oh, yeah, I get that a lot,” he knew that Dominick would clench his jaw and mumble “I don’t see it” or say nothing at all, pretend he hadn’t heard. Anyone who remembered the three Banner triplets instead of the two Banner twins were either dead or knew better than to mention Bruce, under the triple threats of forsaken family, omerta, and Dominick’s temper.
He tried to remember the last time he spoke to his brothers. They must have been nineteen, twenty, Thomas and Dominick in college, Bruce long finished with undergrad. The calls were infrequent but always frantic. Thomas’ were about government conspiracies, assassination attempts, poison in the water. Dominick’s were about Thomas: “He’s freaking out, man.” Bruce’s response, which brought him shame to this day: “Well, what do you want me to do about it?”
Years later, Dominick again: “He cut his hand off in the library!”
A pause, then another shameful Bruce response: “Like, the public library?”
“No, the Harvard Library,” Dominick spat. “Yes, the fucking public library.
“...in front of Mrs. Daldridge?”
No, Bruce remembered, their last communication was one-sided. Dominick, slurring and shitfaced, left a message on Bruce’s voicemail: “You know our grand-uncle? He was a monkeyfucker. He fucked a fucking monkey. And our grandfather was an asshole.” Bruce was almost tempted to follow up, but he thought better of it, deleted the message, and tucked his phone away.
Bruce could have gone his entire life without mentioning his siblings, had he not gotten together with Tony. He tried to avoid that, too, but Tony proved hard to resist.
To start off, Bruce gave their relationship a week. It could have just been a hook-up, in which case there would be no reason to confide painful personal secrets.
A week passed, and then Bruce gave it a month. Proportionately to adulthood, a month was nothing more than a high school romance. Still no reason to bare one’s soul.
A month became six, then they had their anniversary. Tony knew almost everything else about Bruce’s life--dead mother, abusive dead dad. But Bruce’s living relatives were more difficult to talk about than his dead ones, even the one he murdered.
Then, impossibly, their fifth anniversary drew nearer, and Tony proposed, and Bruce started to think that Tony was serious about their relationship. Bruce couldn’t keep his family a secret forever.
In all likelihood, Tony had some inkling about Bruce’s siblings. Fortunately, they were notoriously private--probably the only people in the United States who would turn down a suitcase full of cash for a five-minute interview--for which Bruce was grateful.
He still felt guilty about abandoning them, even though he knew it was a matter of his health and survival. But it was that slight inkling of guilt, and a bit of hope, that convinced him to say “yes” when Tony suggested he reunite with them. “I changed,” Tony said with a shrug, carefully not applying any pressure to Bruce, “you changed, maybe they did, too.”
Bruce didn’t resist. He called Dominick the next day. They had a gruff, John Wayne-y conversation in which Bruce hoped Dominick would yell something Terrible That He Could Not Take Back, and Bruce would leave the conversation as the moral victor who would never have to see his brothers again.
But Dominick, reticent as he was, found enough words to make plans.
The family reunion couldn’t happen publicly. Thomas’ issues aside, three Bruce Banners would set off conspiracy theorists worldwide. Who were they? Why had they never made a public appearance before? Were there three Hulks? Was this a weird Tony Stark sex initiative?
It would have to happen privately with utmost discretion, somewhere safe and familiar that wouldn’t set Thomas off. Only one candidate existed: their childhood home.
Bruce tried to warn Tony about what he was heading into.
“My brothers are really weird.”
Tony cocked his head to the side, reluctant to point out that Bruce literally turned into a giant green monster if he got too upset, but hoping Bruce got the point, anyway.
“No, you really don’t understand. My whole family is so dramatic.”
Tony inclined his head further. Bruce slumped his shoulders, at a loss for how to impart how not a joke this was. With the day approaching, he couldn’t remember why he’d agreed to it in the first place. Forget “growth” and “maturity” and all those things that happened in Oprah’s Book Club and HBO miniseries. There was no way this could be anything other than disastrous.
“They’re not going to like you,” Bruce said.
“What? Everyone likes me!”
Bruce cocked his head to the side in an exact mirror of Tony’s earlier gesture, likewise hoping to lob Tony’s words back at him without saying anything.
“Do you know why my brother cut his hand off?” Bruce asked. He knew that Tony didn’t. The town had smothered Thomas’ incident like a nascent flame. Unless Tony went to Bruce’s small-town Connecticut library and hunched over microfilm of old local news clippings, he wouldn’t know. “Anti-war protest.”
“What, were signs too passe?”
Bruce smiled. It was serious and sad, of course, but also ridiculous and, needless to say, completely ineffective at stopping any wars. “He’s less a Social Justice Warrior, more a Warrior of God.”
“But I’m a good guy now! Doesn’t he know I’m a superhero?”
“This may come as a shock,” Bruce said, “but the idea of an all-powerful corporate billionaire robot-man doesn’t really vibe with paranoid schizophrenia. He’s gonna look at you and see devil horns and a little Hitler mustache.”
“What about the other one?”
“Oh, he’s worse.”
Tony raised his eyebrows. “Did he cut off both hands?”
“He’s homophobic. Seeing his triplet with another man is going to set up all sorts of gay panic in him. ‘If Bruce is gay, what if I’m gay? I better punch someone to prove I’m a man.’ Et cetera.”
“He sounds very secure. If it makes him feel better, then statistically, Bruce is the gayer name.”
Nothing was going to make Thomas or Dominick feel better, not the relative heterosexuality of their names (Bruce would argue that all their names were pretty gay), not world peace.
He tried different ways to make Tony understand:
“Imagine, if you will, a family in which I am the most normal and well-adjusted.”
“Imagine how intense and annoying Thor and Loki are, but they’re Italians from Connecticut.”
“Imagine siblings, just as a concept. You have no idea! You’re an only child!”
On their surreptitious, environmentally friendly car ride over, Bruce gave Tony one last warning. “We have thirty years of unresolved baggage behind us, and Dominick loves a good blow-up.” The world was lucky Bruce, and not Dominick, was saddled with The Hulk. Dominick would never revert back to his puny human form.
“So one of your brothers is a violent homophobe and the other hates wars and billionaires. Is this a long-term plan for the Banner family to assassinate me? If it is...well-played.”
“Damn it. I came so close, but I didn’t plan on falling in love.”
“I have that power over people. Hey, wouldn’t it be funny if your brother fell in love with me?”
“Which one?” Bruce muttered. He wasn’t sure which was worse.
“Both of them. Homophobe learns there’s nothing wrong with being gay, conspiracy theorist realizes that powerful billionaires are good, actually.”
Bruce’s mouth turned into a thin grim line, warning Tony that he was treading into dangerous territory.
“Okay, okay, maybe not. But I think I can get at least one of your brothers to like me.”
“Hmm,” Bruce hummed noncommittally. Tony still had no idea.
The door was unlocked when Bruce and Tony arrived. The house was exactly as he remembered it, not that Thomas or Dominick were inclined toward interior decorating. Dominick painted houses, but his interest did not extend to fru-fru inside work.
“Hello?” Bruce called, Tony hovering close by. Dominick appeared, followed by Thomas.
Identical or not, there was no confusing the triplets. Dominick was more muscular than either of his brothers--manly push-ups to push away unmanly thoughts--and had grown a beard. Thomas was clean-shaven but twenty pounds heavier, his hair cropped short and a perpetually anxious look on his face. And of course there was the dead giveaway--the missing hand.
Bruce instantly remembered why he avoided his brothers for so long. It wasn’t what they were, it was what he could have been. He could have been subservient to his anger issues and repression, or powerless to reality. He wouldn’t trade his big green burden for either one of theirs.
“Remember Bruce, Thomas? Remember we used to have a third brother?” Dominick said. Already planting bait.
Bruce didn’t rise to it. He had the self-restraint to keep the Hulk at bay, he could certainly leave Dominick’s snippy little remarks hanging.
Tony, however, couldn’t. Blissfully siblingless, he responded, “That’s not how genetics work. He’s still your brother. ”
Dominick surveyed Tony up and down. Bruce could see him decide between retorts like choosing a new car--blow up now or later? Eventually, Dominick settled on, “You seem taller on TV.”
“It’s the lifts,” Tony replied amiably.
Blow up later.
“We see you on TV all the time. ‘Saving the world,’” Thomas said abruptly. “You can’t save the world from the devil with the devil himself. He’s using you.” Then, out of nowhere, Bruce was struck by droplets of water. The bulk of the liquid splattered across Tony’s face.
“See? Not evil,” Tony said, his skin not sizzling.
“It’s fine, Thomas, I’m using him,” Bruce said as he found his old place on the sofa, then realized the petty symbolism and scooted over. Tony sat next to him.
“He’s using me for my billions, I’m using him for his hundreds.”
Dominick leaned forward, his legs spread wide, what Peter’s friend MJ would call “manspreading.” His face twitched and scrunched with contempt. “So, you let yourself be the woman?” He asked his brother.
Dominick expected an indignant lecture, so Bruce wouldn’t give him one. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll say I penetrate.”
“And since I’m secure in my manhood, I'll corroborate that story,” Tony added.
“Gross. I don’t want to know the details.”
Bruce ducked his head to hide his wry smile. He knew that Dominick wanted the logistics that their sex ed classes deprived them of and the forbidden answers that haunted his mind. But for all the obvious jokes about protesting too much, Bruce didn’t think Dominick was gay, just curious in a way that he’d never let himself explore. To paraphrase Freud, sometimes annoying heterosexuality was just annoying heterosexuality.
“So what have you been up to?” Bruce asked, already dreading the answer. He knew the question would open a Pandora’s box of misfortune. It was true that their family had a special case of bad luck. If he believed in curses, he’d consider their family cursed. Dominick bore the weight of all their misfortunes like he was building tragedy muscle, and it got tiresome.
“You got time for thirty years of catch-up?” Dominick said, hoping to induce guilt by mentioning the lost decades.
Bruce glanced at Tony, who spread his hands and shrugged. “I cleared my schedule.”
“Well, while you were off in India or flying around in your superhero leotard, he--” Dominick pointed a thumb at Thomas, who was hunched over and staring at his lap-- “completely decompensated. Cut his hand off, if you haven’t noticed.”
“None of us wear leotards.”
Dominick glared at him before continuing. “It was touch and go with the facilities. They wanted to lock him up in Hatch. Max security. Can you believe that?”
A silence fell a moment too long, before Bruce realized the question wasn’t rhetorical. “Er...yeah, I mean, he brandished a machete in a public place, right?”
“You think Thomas belongs in a facility with felons and killers?”
Far be it from Bruce to side with The System--he hated the injustice that he could atone for his past while Thomas could not, and he resented the world in which institutions like Hatch existed--but, in true sibling fashion, irritating Dominick was more important than his standing by his ideals. Bruce glanced over at the man they were talking about like he wasn’t there. Thomas didn’t seem to be paying attention, so Bruce shrugged and said, “He cut through bone.”
“So let me get this straight. Thomas should be locked up even though he didn’t hurt anyone, but you should get away with murder?”
Bruce could have pointed out that he murdered their abusive father when he was barely a teenager (one of the many things that Dominick was seethingly jealous of). Instead, Bruce said, “I didn’t do it in a library.”
“And what about him?” Thomas exploded, pointing an accusing finger at Tony. “The blood on his hands. Drenched, soaked in it.”
Bruce and Tony exchanged glances. Tony’s look asked Bruce for help. Bruce’s told Tony I told you so.
“Yeah, what about you, Mr. Bigshot?” Dominick asked. “War Criminal of the Century? One death, that’s a tragedy, a million, that’s--”
“A statistic,” Tony and Bruce finished the quote in rote unison, then awkward glanced aside. Dominick’s face reddened and his glare became even more piercing, demanding that Tony answer for his continued existence.
“I’m too rich to go to jail,” Tony said. “Bruce resents it. It’s a strain on our relationship.” Bruce snorted.
The veins in Dominick’s forehead pulsated. He had expected a cathartic fight at the door, and matching Bruce’s calm demeanor was wearing on him. “It’s all fun and games to you, isn’t it.”
Bruce remembered Tony’s quip from the first time they met--Funny things are--and he broke into the same smile that he’d tried to hide from Steve. “The fun and games are.”
Bruce being happy--gay and gay--was almost too much for Dominick to bear, and Bruce enjoyed the frustration it caused. Seeing his brother’s rage issues, Bruce was reminded of his own tight lid and self-control. He glanced at Tony, recounted his odd quietness, the uncharacteristic way he only responded when directly addressed, the limited quips, and knew that Tony was having a fan-fucking-tastic time simply bearing witness.
“You wanna know how I’ve been?” Dominick exploded out of his chair, trying to puff himself up as if his extra twenty pounds of muscle would be any match for Bruce’s extra six thousand pounds of muscle. If it got to that point, Dominick would go up against the Hulk. Hell, it was like he wanted to.
“Yeah, I mean, that was the first thing I asked, before you demanded my thoughts on restorative justice and after you asked me if I bottomed…”
”OK, here’s how I’ve been,” Dominick said, before launching into a woeful tale that included Dominick getting into a car crash and falling off a house and breaking every bone in his body (ouch), his daughter getting SIDS (OK, maybe Bruce should have been there for that), his wife leaving him (whyever would she do that), his fitness instructor girlfriend cheating on him with her gay uncle (???), and Thomas breaking a typewriter (in college).
“Oh, and then I get our grandfather’s memoirs--not that you care about family, but I cared--and I find out that he’s an abusive asshole, just this arrogant dirtbag--”
“Is that the uh, voicemail you left me?”
Dominick furrowed his brows. He was drunk enough to call Bruce, which meant he was too drunk to remember.
“...the monkey fucker?” Bruce muttered, glancing quickly and shyly at Tony.
“The what?” Tony asked, perking up.
“Yeah, the monkey fucker,” Dominick spat.
“Ooh! Finally, some drama!” Tony clapped his hands together. Dominick glared at him, but the family secret was out.
“Do you still have the memoir?” Bruce asked. Dominick glared at him, walked away, and returned with thick packets of paper.
“One’s the original, one’s the translation. You wanna know what I went through to get that translated?” Dominick asked before launching into a story about an adjunct professor at a local college who held the memoir hostage after he rebuked her advances (must everything be a Homeric ordeal?)
Not to flaunt his multilingual prowess (OK, maybe a little), Bruce perused the original and speed-read the translation. Tony read over his shoulder. Eventually, Bruce folded his reading glasses and closed the books.
“There’s nothing about monkey fucking in this one,” Bruce announced, handing it back to Dominick.
“What? Are you--are you kidding? Are you fucking kidding me?” Dominick flipped through the pages as if he’d suddenly get the ability to read Italian.
“Yeah. You were fleeced, man.”
“So our grandfather wasn’t an asshole?”
“Oh, no, he was a real prick, but the monkey stuff--that’s made up.”
“Are you fucking with me?” Dominick asked.
“How is that fucking with you? Do you want that stuff to be true?”
Dominick clenched his jaw and accepted the news--one less thing to crush his soul.
Safely outside and out of earshot, heading to the car, Tony asked Bruce, “Why’d you lie to him? You told him there was no monkey fucking but there was a ton of it.”
Bruce gestured back to the direction they’d come from. “You heard all that crap he’s gone through. Give him one less thing to angst over. Thanks for going along with it.”
“Yeah, no problem,” Tony said, then he stopped.
“What?”
“Your grand-uncle fucked a monkey.”
Bruce pursed his lips. “Don’t be crass. It was love,” he joked weakly, as he thought oh shit and the lifelong repercussions unfolded before him.
“Man! You told me your family was messed up, but not that messed up!” Tony cackled.
“Get in the car,” Bruce said, his stomach swirling.
“Did you know?”
“Dominick left me a drunk voicemail a few years ago, it could have meant anything,” Bruce muttered, his lips barely moving.
“Have I mentioned how glad I am to not have siblings? Man, what a blood burden and you can’t even share it with--”
“They didn’t like you,” Bruce cut in quickly to shut him up.
“What?”
“You said one of them would like you and neither did.” The words came out petulant and petty, but they were completely effective. Tony crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat, silent for most of the drive, except to mumble that at least Bruce was the hot one.
The first trailer of HBO's limited series from Wally Lamb's "I KNOW THIS MUCH IS TRUE".
I've been waiting for this to come out since last year I've found out that Mark Ruffalo will take the roles of twin brothers Dominick and Thomas Birdsey.
