Monster In The Mirror
One thing Bruce Banner had never enjoyed was seeing other people in pain, or suffering in any kind of way.
Growing up with an alcoholic, abusive father was part of the reason for this.
He had been fine when the abuse was towards himself, he'd never minded his own pain. It was when the abuse was directed towards his mother that he really reacted. The first few times, he'd tried to defend her, and his father would turn his attention onto his son. Eventually though, he realized why Bruce reacted that way, and no matter what he did to try to stop him, the drunk man would continue to injure his mother.
He went on to college to become a doctor, that way he could help people with their pain. He hated seeing it, but if he could help in any way, he would.
And then there was the Other Guy.
Every time he came out, once Bruce was back to being himself, he was overcome by guilt and sickness from what he'd done. He hated himself more and more every time it happened.
Eventually, he learned to control the big green monster, but it still hurt. Every time he came out, people who didn't deserve it got hurt. And Bruce couldn't stand that. He wanted to help people, not hurt them.
He hated mirrors. He hated his reflection.
It wasn't that he didn't like his appearance - he was fairly good looking for a man his age - he just didn't like looking at himself. Every time he saw his own face, he would freeze, and stare. He'd be filled to the brim once again with guilt and disgust as he remembered everything the Other Guy had done.
As the years grew on, it transformed from a simple dislike, into something akin to fear.
He was afraid to look at himself.
He did his best to hide it. But every time he saw his own reflection, a little part of him died.
Bruce was talented at hiding it, but eventually the others began to notice.
No one ever said anything. It was just a simple look shot towards him, filled with worry. Sometimes they would whisper to each other, wondering if he was okay. Bruce hated it, but he never said a word.
Whenever he wasn't fighting with the Avengers to save the world, he was most of the time in the lab. Performing experiments, trying to cure the common cold, etc.
Every time he allowed the Other Guy to come out, when he was finally himself again, the fear of his reflection grew more prominent. It was harder to hide. He began to see his reflection in almost every flat surface. He became paranoid and jumpy, and eventually, his friends decided to take action.
A couple days after a particularly rough battle, he was confronted by the five of them. All held worried looks, but it was Steve who finally spoke up.
"Bruce, we've noticed that you've been really jumpy lately, especially after fighting. We're worried about you. Is everything okay?"
Bruce gulped silently, hoping he could get out of this without lying to them, but without telling the truth either. "Yeah, I'm fine." And it was true. He was, especially at that moment, fine, whenever he wasn't around a reflective surface. It was bending the truth, but wasn't full out lying. He grit his teeth, waiting for their reply.
Tasha and Clint looked skeptical, Tony scoffed, Thor's face grew increasingly more worried, and Steve furrowed his brow. "Bruce, you would come to us if anything was wrong, wouldn't you?"
He nodded. "Of course." he replied
Thor shook his head, taking Steve's place. "My friend, you say you are fine, and that you would talk to us if there was something of the matter, yet even now your hands are shaking and your eyes hold a slight fear. Please, allow us to help you. What is wrong?"
Bruce's eyes widened at Thor's perceptiveness. He guessed growing up with Loki as a brother, one had to be watchful to see if something was the matter.
Bruce shook his head, and smiled. "It's nothing, really. Just a slight phobia. It's silly really, and I've been trying to get over it."
He tried not to wince at his lie. It was not slight, and he had not been trying to get better. Instead, it was steadily worsening with each time the Other Guy had to show his face.
They all looked skeptical, but they, thankfully, decided not to push him. Sighing in relief, he fled to his room.
He tried so hard, he really did, but it was for nothing.
He caught his reflection in the mirror and froze. He kept imagining himself growing larger, skin rippling and turning green. He kept imagining the building being crushed in his hands, the people he'd 'smashed'. As much as he tried to stop it, the fear grew stronger.
He began to shake, and sweat. His eyes were wide, and he couldn't stop the images floating through his mind. People staring, petrified of the monster in front of them. Buildings he destroyed in one of his rages.
His breathing began to grow faster and more shallow, until he was hyperventilating.
In his mind, Bruce knew what was happening. He was having a panic attack, the signs were all there. He couldn't bring himself to care though.
He slid down the wall, but his eyes remained locked on his reflection, staring at the monster that was inside him. Vaguely, he heard someone speaking.
"Sir, it appears you are having a panic attack. I'm going to call the others."
JARVIS.
Bruce tried to tell him that no, he was fine. He just needed a moment. He didn't have to bother the others with this. He would be okay. But he couldn't find the breath to do so. Instead, he sat on the ground, staring at his reflection, gasping as silent tears ran down his face.
He wanted it to stop, wanted this pain and guilt to go away. For the first time in a long time, he took notice of his own suffering. It was finally too large to ignore.
He heard his bedroom door slam open, the pounding of feet, and the voices of his friends asking him what was wrong, but it all seemed so far away. He couldn't understand what they were saying, nor did he care. He just wanted it to end.
He felt himself being picked up by a pair of strong arms, Thor, and was laid down on his bed. Someone's hand was stroking his brow, and briefly he managed to focus on red.
He heard multiple voices, and he was sure they were telling him that it was okay, that he was safe, etc. He smiled, greatly appreciating his friends care for him, even if he couldn't understand how the could care for a monster like him.
Darkness swelled at the edge of his vision, slowly growing larger and larger. He managed to focus on their worried faces, watching him with increasing concern.
He smiled as the darkness overcame him, and he fell into the hold of unconsciousness.
He had friends.
Even though he was a monster, there were still people who cared for him.
People who loved him.
Maybe they were right then.
Maybe he would be okay.
Maybe someday, he could look at his reflection, without noticing the monster that stared back at him.
Because if so many people were able to care for him,
He must not be so bad.