Bruce Banner's life has seemingly come to a sudden standstill. It's a loop, a broken record, a rewind button that's been pushed too hard and now it's jammed into the remote. (Dammit Tony, what did Steve tell you about giving Thor free reign of the living room electronics?!)
In conclusion, the Hulk, a monster feared by even the mightiest of men, the one who smashed the god Loki into the lounge room tiles, is utterly stuck. No kidding. Bruce Banner cannot take one more day of high school. Maybe it would be okay if he had a class of respecting seniors, whose mischief making days were behind them, or a group of fresh-faced, eager-to-please freshmen. But no. Bruce teaches science to a bunch of juniors, immature seventeen year olds who like spitballs and don't like pop quizzes on Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Thursdays, or Fridays.
Hah. Director Fury must be having a hell of a laugh up on the helicarrier right now, because yesterday Bruce almost Hulked-out completely, and nearly smashed the safety shower in his rage.
He has half a mind to pull out of the mission, because there is no way Bruce wants to recruit some half-witted, jerk teenage boy for SHIELD if it means he'll have to see the delinquent around from time to time. Forget his scientific curiosity, and the potential danger he could be presenting to the entire city of New York, Bruce included. Nope, sorry, grey hairs and premature aging lines aren't his thing.
Of course, it's understood why Bruce has to be the one to root out the kid. For starters, he's the only one who doesn't have a professional kill record a mile and a half long, and won't faint at the sight of an iPhone (love you Steve and Thor, no disrespect intend – Oh quit your whining, Tony says way worse stuff about you!)
And really, if worst comes to worst, the Hulk may be necessary for an extraction.
That doesn't mean Bruce likes it.

There is something Bruce likes to call Doctor's Intuition, and before you ask, yes, he just made that up one the spot.
But he thinks he may have found him.
It seems too fast, and a little unnerving to think that the boy at the center of a worldwide manhunt could be sitting on a desk in Bruce's classroom after school. It seems downright frightening to think that Bruce is currently bandaging this boy's leg. It just seems ironic that Bruce stumbles upon the kid while he's trying to ward off bullies. And it's just kind of the good doctor that he had stepped in and shooed the brats away.
The kid's name is Percy Jackson. He's a junior, he's tall, there is indeed a mop of messy dark hair growing from his scalp, and there is a nice tan on his skin.
Bruce takes one look at the kid, notices the large and inflamed scrape down the teenager's leg from the scuffle in the schoolyard, and offers to clean it up for him, because the amount of damage Bruce has seen wounds like that do to people in India is not pretty. Percy had been pretty hesitant to accept the offer. He looked almost... wary.
Then he stuck his hand in his pocket, shrugged, and trailed several feet behind Bruce, down the hall to 412.
"I have you for science. Third period." He states, looking around the simple green colored room, so as not to be forced to meet his 'teacher's' eyes. Bruce lifts a shoulder in an absentminded 'probably' gesture, and bends down to dig through his SHEILD supplied briefcase. He remembers seeing a first-aid kit in here somewhere...
"So why were those kids bugging on you?" He asks conversationally, carefully even, because the constant threat lingers in his mind, halfway in the shadows. Percy glances nervously at the clock, takes note that it has been less than three minutes since he first entered the classroom, and plunks down on one of the desks nearby.
There is a buzz of silence while Percy attempts to formulate an answer that won't give anything away. "Well... I guess I'm just kind of a bad kid, ya' know. Like, I don't get around to turning in my homework most of the time. I'm tardy a lot, and I skip some classes for family issues. And... because I'm ADHD and Dyslexic." He sighs halfheartedly and stares up at the ceiling. "Are you gonna pick on me too now?"
Bruce gives a half laugh, half cheer, as he holds up the first aid kit. He pops the latch open and begins to root around for some disinfectant and bandages. "Nah. Got enough of that from my parents to figure out pretty quickly how it made people feel. I've seen a lot of people who ended up seriously hurt because of something they couldn't help." He tosses a bottle of rubbing alcohol and a bag of cotton balls over his shoulder to Percy. "Put that on. And don't bother listening to them. They're just looking for a reaction to laugh at."
A dry laugh bubbles from Percy's throat before he can stop it. Bruce looks over curiously.
"I think they're mad that I have a teacher on my side. Mr. Blofis is my step-father, and he's pulled me out of more scrapes than I can count. There was this one time I had to leave halfway through third period, and he let me go. I guess he's pretty stingy about that sort of stuff with other kids." Then Percy realizes how that sounds and backpedals quickly. "I mean, he knows that it's important, when I have to duck out. He's not like... willingly allowing me to skip school because he's my step-father."
This caught Bruce's attention. Sure, Percy had mentioned something about family issues before, and how sometimes he had to leave school, but for other students to take an interest in the amount of time he spent out of classes, well... that had to be a considerable amount. Casually, he attempted to bring up the topic.
"So what requires so much attention?" He asks after a moment's pause, to seem as though he was thinking.
The teenager looks startled, his bright sea-green eyes taking on that 'deer-caught-in-headlights' look, and he stumbles over his words for a minute. "O- Oh, just... Well, I have to- It's really complicated, see... It, uh... It varies. L-Like once there was something wrong with my Uncle H's business, he's a really important... person," Percy says lamely, "And normally my family relies on the younger people to sort things out. I take a lot of... trips, dealing with... competitors, and I guess... Well, kids probably think it's weird that I can't turn in my classwork most of the time, and then I'm entrusted with the duty of... Well, you know."
There is a drawn silence while Percy blushes and dabs at the bloody scrape running down the length of his leg. He winces when the disinfectant goes on. Bruce chortles lightly, and tears off a piece of stretchy white gauze.
"I'm not great at explaining things... Sometimes my cousins will ask me if I'm sure there's not some kind of Dyslexia for speech that I might have." He awkwardly scratches at the back of his head. "I don't really get the chance to... ya' know, talk about myself a lot. There's normally more pressing things than which kid was picking on me that day... So thanks, I guess. For fixing me up and listening." Bruce pins the bandage in place and gives him a kind smile.
"Well, I'll be here for a semester if you need anything. You know where my room is." He gestures around him in a weak attempt at a joke. He isn't sure if Percy is laughing to be polite, or if he just enjoys bad humor.
"You know, Mr. Perkins. I kind of had my doubts – a lot of the teachers here aren't exactly qualified to teach ADHD dyslexic kids who come from delinquent schools. But I think you're okay."
And he waves, before swinging his backpack over his shoulder and runs out the open door.

"You had a heart to heart with him? Is the Hulk going soft?" Tony's head bobs over the indoor balcony, which looks down on the lounge (floor 88) from the circular hallway where the team's rooms are (floor 89). Bruce squints up at him, past the thousands of glistening stained glass shards forming an intricate chandelier of light and twirling spirals of glittering metal. It's new, a replacement for the white gold and iron one that used to hang in its place, and is now a twisted pile of scrap metal, courtesy of Thor's curiosity. Funny, Bruce never took Tony as a guy with an eye for beauty.
"It wasn't a heart to heart. The kid is bullied, Tony, and I feel bad for him. I don't think he would ever hurt anyone on purpose. It seems like he's just kind of... neglected." That word brings back sour memories, of his drunk father and his terrified mother, sleepless nights, a lost love, the people of Calcutta, who rejoiced when a doctor came and treated them, who wept when he disappeared, off to save the world.
There was something about the sad smile Percy got, and the distant look in his eyes when he talked about his family, kind of guilty, like he was lying but not really lying, perhaps to save himself from trouble, or maybe because he was embarrassed.
No, that was not a heart to heart conversation. That was a cry for help, unknown to others, and maybe unknown to even Percy, but heard loud and clear by one unlikely superhero.
Tony stares down at him, stoically nonplussed, an eyebrow cocked and a stature that practically screams 'I would put my hands on my hips if it weren't incredibly girlish!' Bruce realizes that his little speech was in his mind, and the egocentric billionaire probably heard none of it. "So you're saying the kid basically told you his life story for the fun of it, right? Sounds like the kind of thing people do, huh?"
There is a brief moment of quiet while each genius tries to stare down the other. Finally, Tony holds up his hands in surrender and announces he's 'going down to the workshop to see if he can pry anything usable off of that junk pile he calls Mark XIV'. Bruce ignores this and strides into the kitchen, all ready to settle down with a mug of tea and that file of his. Director Fury said something about instructions for what to do when Bruce had found the boy.
He has a mug in one hand and the SHIELD issued briefcase in the other, ready to relax, when he stops.
Someone is in his chair.
Again.
Seriously guys, give it a rest.
It's getting old.
"Dr. Banner. I trust your mission is going well." He says calmly, not really asking so much as telling him it better be going well.
Bruce sighs, and puts the tea down on a stray coaster left on the coffee table from team game night yesterday. "Yes sir, Director Fury. I'm still alive, aren't I?"
The man in question laughs, humorlessly, and Bruce watches as his signature black eye-patch crinkles over what Bruce assumes was once a perfectly normal right eye. He recalls the story of how Thor's father, Odin, lost an eye in the battle against the Frost Giants.
Fury rearranges his trench coat around him, and uncrosses his boots. "It would appear so, Doctor. Have you formed any suspicions yet?"
Bruce makes a split-second decision, choosing to shake his head and try to look apologetic. It seems the Director accepts this, or he possibly doesn't have the patience to push the subject further. He figures Tony was in here earlier, bugging Fury over something trivial.
"Very well, Doctor Banner. I hope to be hearing from you soon. Until then, good luck." And then he stands up swiftly, twists the belt of guns he wears around so it is once again facing forward, and strides to the elevator. Bruce holds his breath until the Director is gone, and then pointedly places the briefcase back on the floor against the sofa. To Fury, Percy Jackson is an asset. To Bruce, he's a patient, one he wants to help.

Turns out the confirmation that Percy Jackson is indeed the boy in the photograph is way easier than Bruce expected it to be. He figured it involved Hulking out, a brutal interrogation, losing the young boy's trust because he was working undercover. But no. All Bruce had to do was decide three days later that he is going to walk to Goode today, because it's a nice temperature out and the sun is shining. Plus, ten blocks isn't too tedious.
He passes a dark alley, the kind where superheroes usually save damsels in distress from thugs or gangs or whatever. There is a kind of grunting noise, and the occasional faint taunt or clang of metal on metal, echoing from the shadows, and Bruce has the curiosity any scientist has. So he makes a sharp U-turn and walks carefully through the narrow space between a grocer's and a cinema.
It feels like the trek takes hours, but it has been mere minutes when Bruce finally emerges from the alley, side sore from tripping on an overturned trashcan. Up ahead, a figure holds a stick of some sort – is that a ruler?! – and seems to be dancing around a massive bloodhound, one almost the size of a pickup truck. Then the person swings the ruler at the canine and it seemingly morphs into a shining, three foot long sword. The strike slices down into the shaggy throat of the dog and then there is just a being, holding a weapon and staring at the golden dust coating the cement floor.
And then he has to turn and spot Bruce, looking apprehensive, confused, and maybe a little awed. It is Percy Jackson, the person is Percy Jackson, and Bruce's guess has just been proven correct, because the sword matches that in the picture Fury gave him.
"Mr. Perkins!" He yelps. "What did you see just then?!"
Bruce ignores the question. "My name is Doctor Robert Bruce Banner. You can call me Bruce." He looks at the sword in Percy's hand, then back to the panicked eyes of the teenager. Yep, he's gonna wing it. To hell with Fury's extraction packet. "Are you the one I'm looking for?"
Percy stares at him shell-shocked. "Bruce...? What? I'm just a normal teenage boy! And I don't know what you're talking about."
Then Bruce is pressing a photograph into Percy's hand, the one that isn't holding the sword limply. Percy looks at it weakly.
"Yes, Bruce. It's kind of classified information, but... Well, most people recognize me as the Hulk."
And then Percy is backing away, not because he's scared, but because this is too much for him. Finding out the Hulk has been teaching you how to balance chemical equations, that you basically spilled your life story right into his hands, that he's been sent to find you.
It's enough to put anyone's head in a twist.
Can't he ever be left alone, to live his life in peace?
"Please." Bruce says, carefully. "I want to talk. Are you the one in that picture?"
Percy hisses at him. "I won't tell you anything! I'm not a threat, I'm safe."
"There's a worldwide manhunt going on, and you're convinced you're safe? The Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division narrowed the search down to Goode High School in a matter of days. Want to find out how close the rest of the government is? I assure you, they won't be willing to try the friendly approach."
The teenager stops, intrigued. He's being sought out by the government? But why the Avengers? And why is this Strategy Home and Institution, Easter something or other, not working with the rest of the government? "Why did they send you?" He asks, slowly.
Bruce stares at him, in an 'I think you already know the answer to that one' way.
He does.

A/N: Shorter than the first chapter, but I personally really liked the conversation between Percy and Bruce in the classroom. I love writing Percy as an awkward teenager! And I was so happy about your comments on the first few chapters