[It's difficult not to take issue with practically every word he's just said. The first part flagrantly misses the point-- that Bruce doesn't want people to know him, and he's sure that if he did let them, he'd make more friends. There's nothing that heinous or off-putting about him in regular life, and he's not so far gone into his guilt and self-loathing that he thinks that. But he doesn't want them. Tony is an exception and a deliberately granted one.

The idea that he's dependable can only be met with laughable disbelief, given how little control he has over just about any facet of his life. But the thing that takes him from vaguely frustrated disagreement and edging toward incensed is learning that he has a fanclub.]

I have a what? [spills out of him before he can censor it. Bruce immediately has to take a breath, raise a hand to his face and hide it for a moment. When it lowers, he's distinctly unhappy.] You don't mean I have a fanclub. You mean he does. That's not me, [he asserts, almost daring him to disagree.]

Aside from how no one should be-- be encouraging what he does, I don't want to be popular. Or for anyone to know me. [He'd intended to say that more diplomatically, but now he doesn't bother.]

You're some, I don't know, some weird exception. Not the other universe versions of you, just you. I'm not going to argue over what exact set of memories you have. [That's so immaterial, comparatively. And just like everyone else who's tried to tell him about what he's like on other worlds has found out, it provokes Bruce into abandoning all sense of delicacy and just saying straight out what his point is. Nothing about hearing all the myriad and varied ways his life is even worse in other places inspires his sense of tact.]