A/N: So this takes place during the Avengers movie, right after Natasha and Bruce fall and Bruce is 'hulking-out.' It's just a little idea I had, if you could read it and give me your opinions it'd help a lot. Thank you.
Muscles tensed, jaw locked. Bruce Banner glared venom at the ground below him; groaning as his muscles began to contract and expand. He faintly heard Agent Romanoff to his high left before he was sucked into a memory.
Banner's hand was shaking when he put the bottle of scotch down. He ran a calloused hand over the stuble on his face and sighed quietly. Bruce glanced around the alcove he was hiding in at the moment. It was very small, nothing special at all. About the size of a small apartment and there was trash everywhere that the doctor couldn't bring himself to pick up.
He'd been sitting in the same position for what seemed like hours; doing a mundane routine that made him want to sob everytime he looped back around. Bruce would sit there and stare at the gun on the small table in front of him. Just stare at it and think of all the things he wished he had the guts to do with it. Then he'd take a swig of scotch and wallow in his self pity for a little while longer.
It was the staring at the gun sequence again. Banner cocked his head to the side and evaluated the gun's strength. It was just a hand held pistol, nothing much. Bruce wasn't even sure why he carried it most of the time. If he ever ran into trouble the other guy would take care of it, whether Bruce wanted him to or not.
Something in the sequence shifted and the doctor actually picked up the gun this time. The weapon was cold and foreign in his hands. Bruce moved it around a bit, examining it at all angles with a scientists eye. If a regular-Joe decided to do what Bruce wanted to do, it would cause some serious damage. Bruce just wasn't that lucky.
Banner's brow furrowed and his lips mashed together as he fought the urge to sob. Oh, how he just wanted to belt one out. He wanted to sob and shake and pity himself for hours and hours. He at least deserved that, didn't he? He had been forced upon something he would have never chosen. He at least deserved to pity himself.
But he didn't, he knew he didn't. Bruce Banner was a killer, a murderer. He did not deserve pity in the slightest.
He shook his head violently, slamming the gun onto the table and standing up. Running both of his hands through his hair; he paced his little hide out.
Bruce was not a killer. None of this was his fault! It was all the other guy. The other guy was the one who killed and slaughtered. Not Bruce.
Not Bruce.
Banner returned to staring at the gun again. He picked it up once again and cocked it, placing it inside his mouth. Bruce let out one chocked sob as he pulled the trigger.
The Hulk roared as he chased the redhead through the many hallways of the helliacarrier; glad to be free once more.