Bruce had seen fear in many forms—paralyzing, gut-wrenching fear that hollowed men out from the inside. But this? This was something else entirely.

You were just a child. Fragile. Curled in on yourself like making your body smaller might make the world hurt less. Your eyes—huge, wet, haunted—locked onto the syringe in his hand as though it was a loaded gun.

His grip on the needle tightened, then relaxed. He crouched slowly, lowering himself to your level with the same caution he used when handling explosives. “Hey,” he said, voice low and steady. “It’s okay. I’m not here to hurt you.”

You didn’t flinch. You didn’t run. But you didn’t look away either. Frozen in place, every muscle coiled tight.

Bruce set the syringe on the table. Deliberate. Visible. Unused. “I won’t touch you with it. Not unless you say it’s okay. Deal?”

Silence.

He tried again. “I just need to make sure you’re not sick. But we’ll take it slow. No pressure. No surprises.”

Still nothing. Your breathing was shallow, your gaze never leaving the syringe.

Bruce sat back on his heels, thinking. He’d faced aliens, gods, and monsters—but this? Comforting a terrified child? It felt impossibly delicate.

Then he remembered something. Something Tony once said, half-joking, half-serious.

From his coat pocket, Bruce pulled out a small, crinkled bag of chocolates. He gave it a little shake, the sound soft but enough to pull your focus—just a flicker—to him.

“Chocolate,” he said, almost like he was sharing a secret. “Apparently, it lowers stress. Stark uses it as an excuse, but the science checks out.”

He opened the bag and popped one into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “It’s good stuff. Helps the body calm down, even when the brain’s still catching up.”

Your eyes flicked to the bag. Barely. Briefly.

He extended it toward you, arm steady, voice gentler than before. “Want one? No strings. Just chocolate.”

A pause. A long one.

Then, your fingers moved—slow and hesitant—as you reached out and plucked a single piece from the bag. You held it close, as if someone might take it away.

Bruce exhaled, the tension in his chest easing just a fraction.

“There you go,” he said quietly. “That one’s yours.”