Better than me? - Brance oneshots

Love the Unlovable

A gruff shout and a thump rumbled through the house, startling Bruce. The teen gave a questioning glance towards the bathroom door as he set his book aside.

"Vance? Are you okay, man?" Bruce called, worriedly. He wasn't a particular fan of the thought of barging in and returning with a black eye.

The white bathroom door opened with a violent slam, a brooding figure standing in the doorway. The sharp lines of Vance's face were contorted into a scowl, thick eyebrows scrunched down in obvious annoyance. His typically fluffy hair was drenched, a cotton towel hung lazily around his broad shoulders. On a normal day, Bruce would describe Vance as handsome, perhaps even pretty. However right now, Vance looked more akin to a wet chihuahua. The surprised boy fought back a giggle, that black eye idea rushing back into his mind.

"Do I sound okay to you, pretty boy?" Vance hissed, sarcasm dripping like thick venom off of his words.

Bruce smiled nervously, praying again that he wouldn't walk Vance to the front door with a swollen cheek. Though maybe then, he would have something to blame for the blush seeping into his face.

"I dunno," the teen offered, helpfully, "are your wounds acting up again?"

Vance clenched his fists, one time, two times. If Bruce was insane, he'd even think that the one and only Vance Hopper seemed embarrassed! The longer haired boy's scowl seemed to darken, before finally opening his mouth.

"I can't brush my hair," Vance snapped.

Bruce blurted out before he could think, "What?"

"I can't lift my arms up to brush my air, dickhead," he grumbled, slightly quieter.

Bruce blankly stared at the other for a moment, taken completely off guard. So what the other was saying was...

"Oh, you need my help?"

The blonde pursed his lips and nodded aggressively, before stomping into the bathroom once again. Bruce relaxed, sinking back into the couch and glancing at his forgotten book. Joe DiMaggio's face grinned almost ironically back at him. He sighed before hopping off the couch, taking a trip to the kitchen to retrieve his mother's old, wooden stool. It was a miracle that it wasn't falling apart by now, if he was being honest.

The bathroom door greeted him brightly as Bruce carried the stool into the bathroom, briefly considering knocking. The noise alerted the other boy, who immediately took a brooding seat on the edge of the bathtub. Bruce could see the numerous bruises and scrapes that littered Vance's back. Did this guy have any self-preservation instincts?

He gently ran his hands down the back in front of him, checking for any serious wounds that he might've missed before letting the infamous local bully use his shower. Vance was beaten and dirty in a downtown alleyway when Bruce found him, which intrigued him to no end. He'd never seen him lose a fight before, especially with the aftermath being this horrible. A voice tugged at the back of his mind, turning him against his better judgment as he practically dragged the blonde to his house on the other side of town. It wasn't like he found Vance's resting face angelic or anything, he just couldn't leave him there to get snatched by The Grabber. Of course.

Bruce cleared his throat awkwardly, "So— you couldn't brush your hair? Why?"

"I already told you. Can't lift my arms to brush it if they feel like fucking falling off," Vance huffed from under him.

"No soap in your hair either, I'm assuming?"

"Nah,"

After a few suspenseful moments, he added, "But my hair'll get knotted and shit if I don't brush it right away,"