Chapter Text
Bruce was never all that interested in escapist fiction. He was generally more interested in actually escaping. He didn't see much point in reading about a libertarian rebellion on the Moon when he could be working his way through the recipes in the Anarchist Cookbook instead (and then figuring out how to make the damn recipes actually work.)
It's not that he disliked sci-fi and fantasy - they'd probably take his geek membership card away if he did, and some days that was the only thing he'd got going for him. He watched all of the required canon (most of it in college), and liked it, and memorized the parts he had to in order to communicate with his peers, and he could still enjoy a good evening with friends spent watching special effects on the tube or shooting zombies on the computer screen. He even went to see the original Star Wars movies in the theater, because Dad somehow got the idea that's what all the boys were doing and it would be a good father-son outing.
Left to himself, though, he was a lot more likely to keep his feet on the ground and his nose in a scientific journal. When he was too fried for a science, he took a guilty pleasure in those braincandy thriller novels about white men who had to go on the run, save the world, uncover all the secrets, and get the girl. Leave your irony at the door.
It turned out, though, that somewhere deep inside, he'd always had an inner fanboy boiling to get out.
That was why, the morning after the First Annual Avengers New Year's Party, where he possibly let things get a little bit out of control, he banged his head gently against the pillow and shouted, "STARK!"
The house routed him directly to wherever Tony was, so he got to hear, "I had nothing to do with it, I swear!" over the sound of something metal being severely mistreated.
Bruce put on his most dangerous voice. "Why did I wake up with the entirety of the Star Wars Christmas Album stuck in my head?"
He could maybe believe it wasn't Tony's fault. "My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic" had been Tony's fault, but Gummi Bears was Clint's and the old Batman was Steve's, the traitor. (He actually kind of liked Cheburashka though, so Natasha got a pass.)
"Uh, it turns out we were wrong all along and your alter-ego has no taste? Natasha and Thor had never heard it so Clint insisted on putting it on and then the other guy wouldn't let us take it off repeat."
Bruce groaned and flung an arm over his eyes. "But whose fault is it that a copy of that album even exists on your servers, Tony?"
"JARVIS's." Tony paused, and JARVIS cut in. "Sheer sentiment, sir. He used to sing me the R2-D2 song at holidays, when I was little."
And dammit, how could he even complain about that? But it made him remember the R2-D2 song again.
Bruce's life was already a nightmare, and now, for a private soundtrack, he had "R2D2, we wish you, a merry Christmas, R2-D2, we love you, it's true! R2D2, we wish you, a merry Christmas, we hope our, little message, gets to you," running through his head.
Forever.
Like a boot stomping on his face.