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That was the thing, see? He didn’t know. He didn’t have a clue, and it made what was happening to him even more amazing.
When Bruce had first arrived at Tower del Stark (or Avengers Tower... he supposed the name was okay, but really. His building, his name. Was that so hard--?) he’d been a mess. He didn’t go out, he hid from his peers, and he kept his head down wherever he went. It was bad. In fact, the rest of the Avengers came to him, asking if Bruce was happy or not, because it looked like the man was gonna boggart at the earliest opportunity. He had a packed bag at his door, determined to leave because (Tony deduced, just from briefly chatting with him), he wasn’t “necessary” for the team. Hulk, sure. Give jolly green time for a good smashing, and he was all theirs. But not Bruce.
Poor Bruce had written himself off as a non-entity and that, in Tony’s mind, would not do.
Tony hated how Bruce painted himself, to be honest. He warned Bruce, that he had to strut, but Bruce’d done the exact opposite because he felt he was in everyone’s way. But there had to be a way to keep him from escaping. Had to be a way for Bruce to know people cared about him as well as the Hulk. That he was just important to the team as ol’ Smash-and-Grab.
So that’s when Tony watched. Observed. Detected the weaknesses in Bruce’s wall and the nicks in his armor. And then...bingo. He saw.
Tony nearly kicked himself for not noticing sooner. Bruce had always been the type to busy his fingers, particularly when his mind wandered between one project or another (Bruce was the epitome of an absent-minded professor). Furthermore, after watching their little scientist in the lab one day, Tony put two and two together and observed the trifecta: One, Bruce felt safe when he had something in his hands. Two, he often drummed his fingers near his mouth, and three - Bruce calmed down when someone fed him. Eureka! Bruce’s best ideas, his best happy moments, occurred when he ate. Food engaged his brain, made him smile. Chewing sparked his little scientist brain and goddamn it, Bruce’s personality shined, too. When he ate, he relaxed. Maybe Bruce equated food with love, Tony wasn’t sure. His experiments were certainly his first love, but food was definitely his second.
And during team dinners, Bruce took on his team’s acceptance and - dare he say it - love - like his own special cloak. He mellowed. Opened up. Laughed, for once in his stiff life. For Bruce, Tony concluded, eating the food people provided in a safe environment equalled happiness.
But Tony had to test his hypothesis, of course.
One week he brought in a bag of tootsie pops and left them scattered around the lab in little cups. They weren’t in obvious places, but Tony added notes that said, “please eat” wherever he left them. Not more than five minutes later Bruce had one in his mouth, sucking on it for all it was worth.
The candy disappeared in two weeks.
Next Tony tried jelly beans in tiny little jars.
The jars emptied in a week.
As the experiment continued, he alternated between candy bars, pre-packaged snack goods, cookies, muffins, M&Ms... Boom. Bruce inhaled them like an industrial vacuum and the faster Tony replaced them, the faster they disappeared.
Better yet, Tony watched Bruce slowly unwind. His "hidden" suitcase gradually moved from the door, to his closet... and finally disappeared altogether.
That’s when Tony knew he’d won.
But there was still one teensy...well, okay. Poor choice of words. Large issue. The literal elephant in the room that Tony only felt a little guilty about, because if it meant Bruce stayed, he didn’t haven’t any regrets. Yes, he’d been a manipulative asshole but Bruce was happy so no big deal, right? Well. Besides the obviously Massive. Very. Huge. Deal.
Because despite the Hulk being ever-present and close to the surface, Bruce’s human metabolism was fairly normal. So eating all the extra snacks combined with Bruce’s innately lazy lifestyle, the high-calorie dinners they ate (go figure, super soldiers needed a lot of calories), and Bruce’s preference to sit most of the day... well. Tony saw it even if Bruce didn’t: The man’s body took to the extra calories like a duck to water. Tony thought maybe Bruce’s body even preferred the extra weight - fat equaled padding, after all. Ergo, fewer painful Hulk transitions.
So Tony’s conclusion? Having Hulk inside him meant Bruce was supposed to be fat. Really fat. Extremely fat. It was natural. And Tony was all about au naturale.
Mind you, maybe he’d been a leeetle bit of an enabler. If he saw Bruce’s clothes getting tight or noticed a button or two straining for dear life, he’d tell Jarvis to put in a new order for Bruce’s wardrobe. And maybe Tony invited Bruce over for dinner more often, and encouraged Bruce to take food back to his place, especially if he couldn’t finish extra helpings. And maybe Tony got his chefs to cook tantalizing desserts that Bruce “couldn’t possibly” say no to - and sometimes there were leftovers from their team dinners, and Bruce had space in his fridge, so....
So yeah. He “helped.” And Bruce’s weight shot up quicker than a Pogo stick on a trampoline. But it still took a good while before Bruce truly noticed.
“Mmm,” Bruce said, looking at Tony’s screen. He refilled his hand with M&Ms and flooded his mouth with candy. “(Crunch, crunch)--Mmf. I don’t--” (munch, munch) “--see what the problem is (gulp). Why can’t they use the original design?”
Tony shifted in his seat, a little too distracted by Bruce’s eating and panting over his shoulder. “We’re not trying to blast it across the room, Bruce. We need to stabilize it for space. For astronauts. And using the propellent R&D suggests works, but not on a large scale, and not with our government contracts. We need to come up with something else that’s cheap, efficient, and won’t destroy a third world nation..”
“Gotcha.” Bruce grabbed the M&M bag, dumped a quarter of it in his meaty hands, and poured them down his greedy maw just as fast as the previous handful. Tony hid a smirk; Bruce had polished off two pounds of M&Ms in thirty minutes.
But when Bruce leaned in closer to the data and reached up to adjust his glasses, they both heard it: the spap of his once-distended shirt button hitting the ground, and the sh-r-r-rack of his pants ripping a side seam.
Tony cleared his throat but returned to his screen, not wanting to add insult to injury. Although really, it was far too late for that.
“Oh.” Bruce’s stubby fingers observed the five-inch gap in his pants with a frown. “Well. I... ah. Hmm.” He swallowed sheepishly. “I guess I gained a little weight.”
“Oh?” Tony tried being nonchalant about it, he really did. He thought he covered it well by busying himself with Jarvis' screens, but Bruce's spell had been broken. The other scientist was on to him now, and far too aware of what happened.
Bruce huffed, shooting a disgusted look at the depleted M&M bag. “We don’t need all these snacks in the lab, Tony. Really, we shouldn’t eat in here period, what with all the sensitive equipment.”
“Sorry,” he said. But he wasn’t sorry. At all. “You’re right.”
Bruce tsked and pulled his shirt, seeing a few things for the first time: That his shirt was too short and too tight. That he had a prodigious belly. That his lab coat only covered a quarter of him, and it was impossible to button. “Jesus,” Bruce murmured quietly. “Maybe I gained more than a couple ...”
“It happens, Bruce,” Tony said casually. He risked a glance at the other man and saw him attempt to pull his shirt down. But the shirt was a puckered mess and should’ve been replaced two or three sizes ago. Tony’d wanted to put in a new order for Bruce’s clothes but the shop he’d been using wouldn’t work anymore - Bruce had ballooned past their special order sizes. Finding another shop with bigger sizes and decent clothes had been harder than Tony’d thought.
Bruce poked his floppy stomach. “I must’ve put on like fifty pounds.”
Tony bit back a grin and stilled what would’ve been a sharp comment. Uh, not even close, he wanted to say, but instead -
“Probably, yeah. But... I’d say over fifty, Bruce.”
“Really?” The voice was so positively plaintive that Tony had to glance at him. Poor Bruce was so adorably naïve, so incredibly clueless. “I’d hoped not that much.”
“Brucie,” Tony sighed. He went to the other man and slung an arm over his wide shoulders. “Before I say anything else, let me ask you a few things: Do numbers on a scale matter to you?”
Bruce’s eyes shyly went to the floor. “I... No. I guess not. Not really. They’re arbitrary indicators of our correlation with gravity and--”
“Exactly,” Tony said, cutting him off before he continued rambling. “So. Have you had any problems getting around-wise?”
Bruce made a face and shrugged. “Maybe. But it’s not that bad. I mean, maybe I have knocked a few things over and... I have to admit, it’s been harder to get comfortable and I get winded easier. But I can live with it.”
Tony nodded. “So last but not least - and these are the money questions, Bruce, the most important ones of the day - have you enjoyed yourself? Are you happy?”
“Hmm,” Bruce thought about it. He took off his glasses and used a corner of his too-small shirt to polish them before perching them on the edge of his nose. “I’ll have to say yes. But,” he said, holding up a hand, “I simply cannot get any bigger. If I’ve noticed, then I’m large enough. So no more snacks.” He nodded firmly, signifying his seriousness.
“Fair enough,” Tony smirked. “I’d understand if you’d wanna lose a little, too. That’s if you want to.”
Bruce chuckled, coloring a little. “To be fair, I probably won’t,” he said. “If I’ve gotten used to how I’ve been eating and working, I don’t see myself changing the pattern. I’ll end up living with the few extra pounds; I’m a creature of habit.”
“Mm-hm, yes. That you are.” Tony came around and placed his hands on Bruce’s shoulders so he could stare at him full on. “Bruce, my little oblivious Einstein. You’ve definitely gained more than fifty pounds.”
Bruce sighed and stared at the ground. “I figured.”
“But you’ve also gained more than a hundred pounds.”
His chin shot up, staring at Tony in utter horror. “W-what? Seriously?”
“Brucie-baby.” Tony sighed, shaking his head in mock-sadness. He stroked his goatee and tried not to affect the grimace of a cartoon villain, but it was hard when he saw Bruce’s comically huge eyes. “Hold on to your lab coat, if you think that shocks you, ‘cause I’m not done: You’ve definitely gained more than a hundred fifty pounds, m’man.”
Bruce staggered back, and Tony helped him collapse into a couch. The couch groaned but Tony had had it reinforced a few months back. He’d had a lot of things reinforced while watching Bruce blow up, just in case.
“H-how...” Bruce’s throat bobbed. “How big--?”
Tony patted his shoulder. “I’m estimating here, big guy, but I think you’ve probably gained around two hundred pounds since you came aboard. Give or take.”
“G... give or take ...?” Bruce squeaked.
“Yeah.” He patted Bruce’s overhang with pride. “You’re a bona fide superfatty, Bruce. A superchub. Top tier of fatness. Embrace it.”
“No, that can’t... can it?” He glanced at his thick digits. “I... I mean my clothes--” He glared at Tony. “You have to be fucking with me. My clothes couldn’t fit if I were that huge.”
“And yes, that would be true,” Tony conceded, “except, remember what you asked Jarvis to do, the day you arrived? You told him, if I recall correctly, to ' take your measurements and provide you with clothes to wear, and to give your old clothes to a local charity.’ But you never told him to stop, so... he didn’t.”
Bruce’s face fell. “B—but...”
“Sorry, Bruce,” Tony said with a shrug. “It’s not his fault you kept packing it on, and he kept replacing your clothes. But it’s not all bad. There’re a lot of well-dressed fat men now who couldn’t otherwise afford those duds.”
“Oh, my God,” Bruce groaned. “I c-can’t...I refuse to believe--” He glanced at his stomach and pawed at it like a cat with a toy. His belly bounced in his lap - or rather, his belly was his lap, since it completely engulfed his thighs and knees when he sat.
“Am I really that big?”
Tony shrugged. “Ask Jarvis. He’s got your measurements.”
Bruce swallowed and glanced at the ceiling. “Jarvis? Uh... what’s my current weight?”
“Dr. Banner, your current weight is one hundred seventy-seven point eight kilograms or, if you prefer, three-hundred, ninety-two pounds.”
“What --?!”
“Wow,” Tony said, whistling low. “That is impressive. I was thinkin’ three-thirty or three-fifty, max. You carry it well.”
“I... I—holy shit--”
Tony grinned when Bruce shook his head - his cute little double chin quivered right along with him. To be honest, Tony saw nothing wrong with Bruce’s bulk. He was huge, yeah, but he was still essentially Bruce. Although, he thought with a frown, climbing into one of his sports cars was, sadly, an impossibility at this point.
“Bruce,” Tony said, stopping the other man from having a meltdown on the lab floor. “Numbers on the scale, right? Gravity? Happiness? Don’t forget what you just told me.”
“That’s before I learned I almost weigh four hundred pounds,” Bruce snapped. “That’s not even healthy! That’s... good God, what must everyone think?”
“You’re the Hulk, Bruce,” Tony explained simply, “and your body is designed to carry a lot more than that. Look at it this way: Maybe this is your body’s way of making your Hulk transitions easier on you.”
Bruce opened his mouth to argue, but then softly shut it.
That’s it, Tony thought. Now you’re thinking logically, Brucie. “As for what the others think? Well, the team talked about it, but we figured if you’re happy then it’s no one’s business but yours. They’d much rather see you happy, Bruce, then all mopey and ready to bolt at a moment’s notice.”
“And me being superbly obese is a way to keep me grounded, is that it?”
Tony rolled his eyes at Bruce’s growl. “No, no. That’s not why, Bruce. They care about you and your health, but if you’re perfectly safe and healthy, and you can bring out the Hulk faster and with less stress on your bones, then... they see your heft as a win both for you and for them.”
“B-but I’m a fat blimp,” Bruce sighed. He was almost whining. “A parade float. A fucking TARDIS.”
Tony laughed out loud and tweaked one of Bruce’s dimpled cheeks. “It didn’t seem to bother you while you were rounding out, and there’s still nothing wrong with you. Just accept it for what it is. If you want to shed poundage, I’ll help. But you look fine to me.” He held up his hand in a solemn swear. “I promise I won’t push any extra meals or snacks on you. But if you want ‘em, don’t deny yourself.” He nodded to Bruce’s huge body. “You’ve got a lot to feed. It’s just as wrong to starve yourself because you’re mad at how fat you got, so don’t be mad. Embrace it. You’re still you, there’s just... a lot more of you now."
***
Bruce accepted himself as Tony suggested, but it took a few months. And despite Bruce fearing people would laugh or shun him, no one did. Better still, the entire team spent more time with him and they brought their own little homemade snacks when they did - to help him know they didn’t care about anything but him.
But Bruce’s body had become accustomed to gaining, and the numbers on the scale continued their upward trend - albeit a bit slower. Even Bruce wasn’t sure if he was done gaining.
Fortunately, the only major hiccup in all of it was when Bruce’s favorite chair gave out. Tony had to confess that yeah, he’d previously reinforced furniture without Bruce’s consent, but he’d forgot Bruce's favorite chair. So... yeah. Still, Bruce forgave him, and Tony went to work to making sure all of Bruce's things could accept extra stress.
A lot more.
Meanwhile, Tony shared his findings with the rest of the team. And after mulling it over they decided on their own to make sure Bruce was constantly full, with both food and happiness.
“Whew...” Bruce sat back in his chair and absently rubbed his super-stuffed tum. “That was amazing, Steve. Thanks.”
“Glad you liked it.” Rogers smiled and squeezed Bruce’s shoulder. Tony was almost jealous. Almost. With the rest of the Avengers coming in to make Bruce meals, Bruce wasn’t Tony’s special project any more.
And Bruce wasn’t nearly as shy anymore; he undid his belt and pants buttons and groaned when his stomach surged free, finally unhindered and unencumbered. Tony couldn’t help but smile at how peaceful Bruce looked.
“Did you get enough?”
Bruce’s belly jiggled as he laughed at Steve’s question. “Yeah. I think I got enough around helping number five. And then I had plenty more after the desserts.”
“I didn’t even think you knew how to cook,” Tony quipped at Steve. “I’m surprised you didn’t think it was ‘wimmin folk’ work an’ stuff.”
Steve made a face. “Cut it out, Tony. I know what it’s like to have higher caloric needs.” His kind eyes flickered to Bruce. “Bruce and I both need to eat a lot. It’s easier to double the recipes I use for myself.”
“It was all really good,” Bruce agreed. “The cobbler and ice cream were an especially nice touch.” He sighed and leaned back in his recliner, and it only creaked a little. But Tony noted that the new shirts they’d ordered for Bruce showed signs of strain.
“And I’m ridiculously stuffed. Any more meals like this and I’ll end up packing on another hundred pounds.”
Tony shrugged. “Meh, if you do, we’ll take care of you.”
Steve nodded. “Of course we would. I mean, even if your weight shot up and you ended up as, say, large as the Hulk, it’d all be okay.”
Bruce maneuvered himself so he could get a good look at the two men. He blinked as he gazed between them. “I was joking... but you’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Duh.” Tony rolled his eyes. “Brucie, we got you. If you’re fine with it, we’re fine with it.”
“Steve--?”
“The entire team agreed, Bruce,” he said.
Bruce snorted. “I think the public you’ve sworn to serve and protect would have some issues if I ended up immobile.”
“Hah. You wouldn’t be though. Soon as you turned into Hulk, you’d be on your feet. As for the rest, that’s your call, science bro.”
Bruce shook his head as the two men squeezed his shoulders. “I don’t expect to get that way. I... I’m getting used to being the way I am, but I like some independence, too. I don’t think immobility’d be a good idea.”
“Either way, you know we’re here for ya, big guy.” Tony patted Bruce’s teeming stomach, and Bruce let out a long and incredibly loud belch, like a lion’s roar. Tony grinned as Bruce pinked up.
“Wow. Um... that was uncalled for. I’m sorry.”
“Just means you liked your dinner, as my Mom would’ve said.” Steve grinned at him.. “I’ll take it as a compliment.” He shyly pointed to Bruce’s belly. “Just let us know what you need, Bruce. We’re here for you.”
Bruce’s blush deepened. “I...ah. Thanks. I think I’ll be okay if I take time to digest all that food--”
“Say no more.” Tony grabbed a chair held up a hand and massaged Bruce’s belly. Bruce squirmed at first, but Tony could feel him relax. When he let out a small groan of pleasure and closed his eyes, Tony gestured to Steve. “Do what I’m doing,” he explained quietly. “On his other side.”
“Like this?”
Tony nodded.
“Guys,” Bruce slurred sleepily. “You really don’t need to--”
“Tut tut,” Tony clucked. “We want to.”
“Bruce,” Steve said, a little exasperated. “Shut up and let us help.”
Within minutes Bruce was snoring. Tony gestured to a blanket, and Steve quietly lay it across Bruce. They watched him a moment or two to make sure he was okay, then packed up the dishes and cleaned his kitchen, and let him sleep off his food coma.
***
From then on, Tony nominated himself the “expert” on Bruce’s condition, and supervised the care and feeding of their little insecure scientist. Natasha’s crazy Russian meals were a hit, and they crowned Clint’s circus grub the tastiest. Thor's cooking, though, was the surprise.
“He’s still so very tiny,” Thor boomed after seeing Bruce. Bruce had wandered to his bed to nap after one of Thor’s incredibly filling meals from Asgard (some kind of stag stew, Tony thought, but he wasn’t gonna try it). But Bruce liked it well enough and, incredibly, one full portion filled him right up.
“Friend Stark, I thought you said our good doctor was the equivalent of three men.”
Tony switched his feet and made room in Bruce’s fridge for Thor’s stack of meals. He wasn’t worried, though. The leftovers wouldn’t last long. “Well, technically... yeah, he is. He’s tipping the scales at four-ninety, so that’s true as far as humans are concerned.”
“Pah. Volstagg dwarfs him by comparison. As does the doctor’s alter. Adding to his girth t’will be but an easy task.”
Tony winced. “Er... Bruce wouldn’t like it if we added more to him, Thor. He needs to sustain himself at this point. He’s moving slower these days, and I’ve already outfitted the lab so he doesn’t have to walk or stand as much. With his height and weight, he’s getting close to his hard limits. But he doesn’t want to be dependent; he’d rather get around on his own power, even if that means he doesn’t travel very far.”
Thor stroked his chin. “Understood. Mayhap I’ll have our cook balance the dishes for a smaller man. Our children’s portions will suffice, perhaps.”
Tony snorted. “First time Bruce will’ve eaten from the child’s menu in months, I’ll give you that. He’ll get a laugh over it.”
Thor nodded and tipped his head. “I heard of Bruce’s plight,” he murmured. “Is he well?”
Tony’s eyes flickered to the bedroom. “No, but he will be. Betty, his girlfriend - well, ex-girlfriend now, I guess - was turned off by his larger size. Which is funny, if you think about it. From what I gathered, she got along with the Hulk.”
“She saw both Banner and the Hulk as separate entities then.” Thor slowly shook his head. “A shame. Banner is a noble man who calls forth his inner rage in times of need, and helps many. If her character is not such that she cannot accept both sides of his dual nature, then I hesitate to call her an ally. Moreso, as she chooses to see the outward appearance of the man, rather than his heart and soul.”
“Yeah.” Tony’s expression hardened. “She wasn't kind about it, and Bruce quit eating for a few days. When he did eat, he sort of picked at his food - yours was the first good meal he’s eaten in about a week.”
“It did him well, then. Heartier fare is not to be found, and the stew is meant to incur hunger, not diminish it.”
Tony laughed. “Oh, man. Well, we wanted him to eat, so... whatever works. Thanks, Thor.”
Thor clapped Tony’s shoulder, and the smaller man stumbled a few steps forward. “Of course. Anything for our comrade and friend.”
***
“I... I can’t. I—No more. God... please— ”
“I’m sorry, Bruce, I’m so, so sorry.” Natasha was the only one of them who spoke. She was the only one strong enough. She bent down on one knee and gently fingered Bruce’s matted locks. “We need him.”
“Fuck you.”
“Bruce, people are dying. We--”
“I don’t care!” He was openly sobbing. He was on all fours and his tears splattered the concrete like drops of blood. “I can’t... it’s too much, Natasha.”
She went closer to his ear, privately. Tony could’ve used the microphones in his suit to pick up the conversation but he’d already seen and heard too much. His heart wrenched, and he was close to telling her they didn’t need Hulk. That they could do this on their own.
But he’d be wrong.
They’d die. Nothing would survive in a thousand miles in any direction. Not unless Hulk stopped it. But Bruce had changed from Hulk and back to Hulk again four times. He was exhausted. Tony’s throat tightened. The past three months had been impossibly painful for Bruce. Not the transitions, necessarily, but... his mind. The distance between him and the Hulk was running painfully thin, and he was losing the war to retain his humanity.
All because they called on such a sensitive heart to save them.
Natasha stepped back and Bruce let out one last, painful scream that was half-roar, and became what they needed.
And yes, they won. But the cost...
They stayed silent on the trip back to the Quinjet. Thor, the strongest apart from the Hulk, was the only one strong enough to carry Bruce’s changed - yet unconscious - body back.
“Is he okay?” Tony’s eyes met Clint’s. “I mean, I know he’s out of it, but--”
“Would you be?” Tony spat. “He’s still Bruce. And we’ve fucked around with his psyche almost every day for the past three months. He’s exhausted. He’s not sure who he is anymore.”
“He needs a vacation.”
“We all fucking need a vacation, Clint.”
“No,” Steve said, sighing. He pulled back his cowl and his hair stuck out in all directions. “Really, just Bruce. He saved our hides. I can’t ask him to do anything else. Not for a while.”
“I’ll take care of him,” Natasha breathed. Her skin was pale but streaks of fury dotted her cheeks. “I forced him to change. I’ll take care of him.”
“What did you end up telling him?”
“What I had to.” Her eyes locked on Steve’s. “What they trained me to do. And you don’t want to know what I had to say to make him change.”
Tony tore off his helmet. “You’re a fucking bitch, Widow.”
“Agreed,” she said. “But we’re alive, and so’s Bruce. I can live with him hating me.”
“You don’t have the monopoly.” Steve tore off his gloves and caught the wrenched expression cementing Bruce’s unconscious features. “My call. My responsibility.”
“It’s everyone’s responsibility,” Tony said. He hunched forward and glared at the floor of the jet. “We were shitty to him. And yeah, it ‘had' to be done,’” he said, snarling in Natasha’s direction. “But it was still fucking shitty.”
By the time they returned to the tower Bruce woke, but there was a coldness in him they hadn’t seen before. He didn’t speak to anyone as they deplaned, and he slowly lumbered to the elevator and took to his room, ignoring everyone’s attempt to apologize. It didn’t matter who tried knocking on his door or who tried making conversation; Bruce was having none of their shit.
He didn’t speak to anyone or see anyone for well over a month.
Tony didn’t blame him. Bruce was eating; he knew that much because of the piles of empty takeout boxes beside his door and the charges on his StarkCard, but Tony feared Bruce was thoroughly done with them. They’d broken his trust. They’d always said the Hulk mattered as much as he did, but they’d effectively lied to him on the battlefield.
It would take a lot to earn back his trust.
During the sixth week of Bruce’s self-imposed exile, Tony softly knocked on his door. “Bruce,” he sighed. He didn’t expect Bruce to answer or anything, just like the other hundred times before. “I’m sorry. We’re all sorry, but I know it doesn’t make up for what we did.” He leaned his back against the door and kept talking. “Just... let us—let me — know you’re okay. Whether you forgive me or not.”
He waited twenty minutes before making a disgruntled noise and pushing from the door. He was halfway down Bruce’s hall before he heard a distinct click and when he spun around he saw a mop of unruly curls poking around the side.
“I’m fine,” he mumbled. Tony jogged over but when he got close, he noticed Bruce looking the very opposite of fine. He appeared beat, he hadn’t shaved in ages, and he looked like he might’ve just stayed in bed the whole five weeks apart from maybe taking a piss or the occasional shower.
“You don’t look fine, you look like shit,” Tony said bluntly.
“As if you care,” Bruce sneered.
“Yeah, I care, you dumbass. Who else would’ve talked through a door for you?”
Bruce stared at the floor. “It’s the Hulk people want, Tony. You know that as well as I do.” Bruce squinted, emphasizing the dark rings and bags beneath his eyes. “I... no. Never mind. Just tell the others I’m retiring.”
“What do you mean, ‘retiring’? Retiring how? And for how long?”
“Does it matter?” He snapped. He ran a shaky hand through his hair. “I can’t sleep, I can’t concentrate... the only thing that hasn’t gone away is my appetite, ‘cause I’m ridiculously fatter than ever--”
“Hey, hey. Cut that out.” Tony squeezed Bruce’s shoulder and came close. In a show of intimacy, he bumped his forehead against Bruce’s, and kept it there. “Nothing’s changed, okay? We’re still here. I’m still here. Let me help a little, yeah?” He smirked. “At least let me give you a shave. You’re lookin’ sorta backwoodsy, m’man.”
That got a smirk out of Bruce, at least. “Fine. Whatever. You’ll just keep bugging me if I don’t let you in anyway.” When he slowly waddled from the doorway, Tony followed, but his lip turned in a small frown. Tony’s frown wasn’t because of the mess of takeout trash piles in the apartment - rather, it was because Bruce hadn’t lied: he'd gained some significant poundage in hiding, and walking had finally become too much effort for Bruce. It probably took too much effort to get out of bed, to be honest. He puffed and wheezed as he wobble-walked. His stomach dragged over his thighs, keeping him off-balance as he moved.
Bruce let out a huge puff of air as he plopped heavily on his couch. “Yeah. It’s... (hah). A lot of hard work... (huff),” he grunted, picking up on Tony’s thoughts. His couch creaked dangerously but Bruce's body sunk into it like putty. It wasn’t deep enough to hold all of his bulk, but what fit molded perfectly around Bruce’s huge ass - like a trap, Tony thought darkly. Tony subconsciously did a few quick calculations, determined to build better and more comfortable pieces of furniture.
Though he had a sinking feeling that Bruce wouldn’t be using any furniture other than his bed for much longer.
Bruce coughed a little and buried his hands in a mixing bowl of peanut M&Ms. While he made short work of the candy, Tony recalled “documentaries” (exploitive trash, really) of men so large they couldn’t leave their homes unassisted. Well... Bruce was there. His stained nightshirt barely stretched enough to accommodate him, and honestly, it would probably be more comfortable if Bruce didn’t wear it at all. Tony remembered buying it and remembered that it had been plenty roomy. Now all it did was outline Bruce’s fat bulges, and it was dangerously close to becoming the only thing that could fit his mammoth frame.
“Shit, Bruce,” Tony murmured. He was angry at himself, mostly, for letting Bruce fall like this.
“No, no.” Bruce held up a hand. He couldn’t really hold up his hand all the way though; his arm “wings” were too heavy. “Don’t you do it. Don’t you dare fucking feel sorry for me.”
Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m not, Bruce. But you’re at a point where you can’t really take care of yourself on your own. I didn’t... you’re the one who didn’t want this.”
“I didn’t want the Hulk to be more important than me either, but here we are.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it?” He greedily downed the equivalent of a cup of candy. “It’s not like it matters, anyway.”
“No. It matters. I know it matters to you. Otherwise you would’ve never opened the door and we would’ve found your rotting corpse taking residence.”
Bruce sneered. “I can’t die. Hulk gives me built in immunity.” He stuck his hand in the bowl again. “So sorry, no rotting corpses. Try again.”
Tony glared at him sharply. “You self-pitying asshole. I’m trying to say you need us right now. We won’t let you finish yourself off, do you get it? Quit pushing away everyone who loves you and let us fucking love you.”
Tony came around the back of the couch and wrapped his arms around Bruce’s thick neck. Bruce stunk and every sour smell made Tony’s hyper-OCD kick into overdrive. But he fought it because Bruce needed him.
At first Bruce was stiff as an oak in his arms, but after a few minutes of Tony’s hug his huge body began to shake, and thick tears rolled down Tony’s arms. “I don’t... I don’t know what to do.”
“You do nothing,” Tony said, kissing his cheek. That’s why you have friends who can carry the load until you’re ready to retake the reins.”
Tony let Bruce cry it out before suggesting he could help the scientist in the tub. Well, modified hot tub, really; nothing else fit Bruce’s girth. “Th-thanks, Tony,” Bruce hiccuped, when they finally made it to the bathroom. It took ten minutes of slow walking, and the idea that Bruce had been doing this on his own, including getting to the bathroom in enough time, amazed him.
No more, Tony pledged.
“No thanks needed.” He ran the bath water while Bruce leaned heavily on a bath rail. “We’ll get you cleaned up and shaved, and then we’ll get real food in you. But... I’d like to talk to the team, Bruce. They’ve been worried about you too, and they want to help.”
Bruce sniffed, but gave a small little nod. “I’m afraid of what they’ll think of me,” Bruce whispered. Tony was positive Bruce hadn’t meant to say the words out loud, but he was glad he did.
“They want you happy,” Tony said. “They want you healthy. And you’re neither of those things right now. So all they’ll do is love you.”
Bruce sniffed again and wiped away more angry tears, but the steam from his bath hid some of his discomfort. “C’mon in,” Tony gestured. “The water’s fine.”
Tony had taken cues from ADA guidelines and redesigned Bruce’s bathroom early on with hand rails and extra grip floor tiles. And even in that he went beyond the requirements, to make sure Bruce could function. But getting around and having the power to pull himself places was two different things. Tony could help a little, but he knew he wouldn’t be strong enough without the suit to help Bruce long term. They’d need Thor, for sure.
Bruce groaned happily when he sunk into the water. His joints must’ve been aching but here, gravity was at a disadvantage, and Bruce could truly rest. “This feels sooo good.”
“I know, right?” Tony found the liquid shampoo and squirted some in Bruce’s hair. Bruce moaned again when Tony massaged his scalp. “I’ll get the ‘bots to clean up, but then I want you to talk to the others, okay? Be honest with what you need. Together we’ll come up with some solutions.”
Tony could feel the tension bleed from the scientist’s body. “Okay,” he finally said, and Tony sighed.
“Good. And Bruce?”
“Hmm?”
“Thank you for trusting us again.”
***
Bruce remained in his condition, nearly immobile and mostly bed-bound, for four months. The team took turns at all hours of the day and apart from the night, where Jarvis monitored his condition, Bruce was never alone. Gradually, Tony saw the old Bruce shining through as Natasha told him stories about her homeland, and Clint talked about his life as a carney, and Thor regaled him with tales of Asgard. Steve told about life in the 40s ( booooring , Cap), and Tony...well. He engaged Bruce’s mind with science arguments. When the nights were particularly long and Bruce couldn’t sleep, the entire team crawled into Bruce’s bed with him (his bed was ridiculously huge and sturdy - seriously; it could fit the Hulk, a herd of elephants, and an entire zoo as far as Tony was concerned) and took turns nuzzling him and hugging him until he returned to a peaceful sleep.
All of them helped bathe and feed Bruce. Tony took time to build a modified iron man suit that helped with Bruce’s mobility - which had the additional benefit of keeping Bruce’s muscles from atrophying. Bruce wore the contraption a few hours a day, but he complained that it was too hard to put on. Tony’d rolled his eyes at him and called him a big baby technophobe, but the argument had been sweet. More like old times.
Fortunately the big bads took time off, and Hulk could stay far away while Bruce healed. And eventually, when Bruce’s body and mind both decided he was ready, his weight dipped back down to self-care levels and he could get around unassisted (though he'd done nothing new, that was the amazing part).
When Bruce waddled his way down to the lab for the first time in six months with only a cane for support, they met him with an Avengers surprise party.
“Happy Day Back From Vacation!” Clint said, hooting in a noisemaker. Bruce chuckled shyly when Natasha threw confetti over his head.
Bruce smiled shyly and brushed the confetti from his hair. “Well. This isn’t embarrassing. At all.”
“Shut up and enjoy it.”
“What Tony means,” Steve said, handing Bruce a thick slice of cake, “is that we’re glad you’re back on your feet.”
“Aye. A comrade’s return from battle deserves celebrations.”
“And libations,” Tony said, saluting Thor with a small glass of champagne.
“Says the Avenger we got caught streaking New Years’ Eve.”
“That was one time, Clint. Jesus, you’ll never make me live that down.”
“No way. I got it on video.”
Bruce chuckled at the bickering, but found a comfortable chair to sit in so he could tuck into his cake. “Thanks, guys. I mean it.” He glanced down at his cake, maybe to hide the slight blush in his cheeks “It’s been... tough, I’m not gonna lie. But it’s good to know you’ll be there for me.”
“Could’ve been any one of us, Big Guy,” Tony said, and Bruce snorted. “Maybe not exactly the same, but if we see a teammate falling, you can be damn sure we’ll be there to provide support.”
“Yeah.” He smirked sadly. “Took me a while to get it, but I do now.”
Natasha came over to him and softly pulled his curls, and he leaned a little into her touch. “Don’t disappear on us again.” She kissed his forehead and continued fingering his locks. “Have you thought about what you’re going to do next?”
“Million dollar question,” Bruce said. He hid his discomfort in a few large bites of cake before briefly glancing at all the Avengers. “I know Hulk and I are the same, more or less. But I’m asking to be on reserve for a while longer. Not that I won’t be around if the situation’s critical, but I need time to be ‘me,’ if that makes sense.” He gestured to his body. “I’m probably going to be this size for the rest of my life, and I don’t mind that, but I wanna enjoy life for a while without the Hulk rearranging my molecules and scrambling my brain. My passion is science. Hulk... is the hobby. Does that make sense?”
“Perfectly,” Steve said. “Bruce, no matter what, we want what you want. No judgments. Tell me when you want to get back into the game, and Hulk will have a place. Until then, it’s not necessary to go out on every call.”
Bruce dipped his head as his blush darkened. “Thanks, Steve. I... well. Just thanks.”
Within moments they all surrounded Bruce, encircling him as if protecting him from the world. Tony supposed they were, in a way - protecting him, that is. He was their brother, their friend, their partner. He was family, and they never wanted him to forget it again.
As the months wore on, Bruce’s weight kept at around the 430 mark, and while he wouldn’t be running any marathons or god forbid walking more than a half mile, he was perfectly content. Team dinners were officially at his place, and there was never a day he went without companionship or without enough food to keep him stuffed and smiling.
They only needed Hulk one time during his recovery, and that was only because some of their heavier hitters were off-world, battling dimensional demons in Asgard. And Bruce was okay with it. By that time, he could be the Hulk, and he could be Bruce, and he had no doubts that his team cared about both sides of him.
“Tony?”
“Yeah, bud?”
“Just to clear the air... I’m not mad at you for making me fat.”
Tony sheepishly ducked his head and switched to another virtual screen. “Well... I did sort of feed you a lot, in the beginning. And I manipulated your habits. I was curious to see what you’d do.”
“I know. It was underhanded, but I still would’ve gotten huge. It might’ve taken longer, but it would’ve happened. In any case,” he rolled back and patted his enormous belly, “I’m happy.”
Tony nodded, returned to his calculations, and smirked as a sliver of peace returned to his soul.
“Good,” Tony said. And he meant it.
And all was finally right with the world.