Author's Note: This was originally going to be a 5-1 story, and it certainly still has that potential. However, the other sections were giving me trouble, and I liked this part as kind of a standalone oneshot. If my muse and motivation return, more will be added. (I know that's what you love to hear from authors.) This is rated T for torture and violence.
He had been in some bad situations before. He knew the utter helplessness that came hand-in-hand with a lack of options and an absence of hope. He might have been pretty new to this whole superhero thing, but he was no less aware of the little flutter of defeat strengthening with every room they passed.
Steve was in front of him, hand threaded through the straps of his shield. His cowl had been swiped off his head during one point in the fight, and his normally perfect hair was rumpled. Bruce was hurrying to keep up with him as he ran from one doorway to the next. The faint sounds of fighting and the whine of Tony's repulsors filtered through the air, reminding Bruce of the scarceness of time.
The two of them were running through the compound searching for a hard drive. Steve was there to save the day. Bruce was there to save Steve from the 21st century.
It was an easy enough task in theory, but apparently someone else had thought so too, and had taken certain precautions. They had killed every single person in the compound.
Bruce had almost thrown up from the sheer amount of blood in the first room they had come across. The walls were painted red, like the souls of the people were desperately trying to escape their sealed fate. He had seen his fair share of blood, as a doctor. This wasn't blood. This was hate.
Steve had been angry, in stark contrast to Bruce's pity-fuelled disgust. Angry that the people couldn't help anymore. They weren't dead in his eyes, they were nothing more than unhelpful.
Bruce had simply stopped looking into the rooms after the second yielded nothing more than the first. He let Steve look into the rooms and assess the contents. As they wound their way deeper into the complex, Steve became more frustrated. He slapped the doorjamb as their trek continued to be proven unsuccessful.
Bruce hazarded a comment. "Cap, I think we should head back. Regroup, work it out?"
Steve's icy glare rested on him, and he fought to not to shrivel under the scrutiny. He felt Cap's unwillingness to surrender their quest unfurl between them like another shield. Then, he suddenly broke the gaze and ran an agitated hand through his hair. "There's gotta be something—there's gotta be—"
Bruce felt the chilling presence in the room the same time a hand wrapped around his neck and the ghost of a gun caressed his temple. It was all he could do not to let the Hulk out. He could feel the beast thrumming through his veins, threatening to break through the flimsy protection of mere skin. It was a moment of heart-stopping disorientation before he regained control of himself. He started categorizing the situation, trying to keep his mind off his current predicament.
After a beat, he was able to string together a coherent thought. His voice was hoarse with fear and desperation. "You don't want—" he licked his lips "—you don't want to do this." He didn't know who it was keeping him hostage, nor did it matter, because a life was a life, no matter the valor of the person wielding it. His fears were certainly not assuaged as he met Cap's gaze, the fearful look in the younger man's eyes quickly hardening into cold, calculating resolve.
A breathy laugh mocked Bruce's ears. "How do you know what the hell I want, huh?" The voice was low and gravely. Bruce was panicking now. His eyes found Cap's again, and he was struck with a sudden calm. Of course Steve could get him out of this.
"Let him go," Steve said in a low, threatening voice.
"What're you doin' here, huh? You're far from your little tower, aren't'cha?" The hand around Bruce's throat was closing tighter, and Bruce angled his chin up to gain access to more oxygen.
Steve looked downright murderous. "Let. Him. Go."
Bruce could've laughed at how horrid his luck was when his captor's reinforcements showed up.
Steve's eyes narrowed as he took stock of all of the new soldiers filing in, all guns setting their fatal sights on his blond head.
Steve's shield was immediately sent on its way, knocking into the enemies like it was magnetically drawn to them. Gunfire chased the stripes, and the room slipped into chaos like it was putting on a coat.
The plan was perfect, and had Bruce not been on the opposite side of the fight, he would have reveled in the deliberately executed beauty of the whole thing. Under the cloak of distraction, Bruce was tugged along, stumbling to get his feet back under him.
The journey was not a long one, but all the shoving and flashes of gunfire and the loud crack of rounds being fired kept Bruce in a constant state of disorientation. He only managed to wrangle his senses under control when all the commotion was jarringly cut off with the closing of a door.
The room was almost ringing with the sudden absence of noise. Bruce blinked a couple of times to clear his head, and evaluated his new surroundings. It was much like the rest of the rooms he and Steve had investigated earlier: roughly fifteen by fifteen feet, cinderblock walls, sparsely decorated.
It had an odd innocence about it, like it couldn't fathom what horrors could take place in there.
Bruce wished he had the same innocence.
The bonds that were soon secured around his hands and feet wouldn't hold back the Hulk. He absently wondered if they even knew what he was underneath the wrappings of an unassuming doctor. What he was capable of. How he could end their lives with one swipe of his hand.
The gun that knocked firmly into the back of his head seemed to suggest otherwise.
"Tell me," were the man's only words.
Bruce didn't know what he was talking about. He weighed his options—keep quiet or entertain the lunatic?—and decided that his chances weren't good either way. At least keeping him talking would increase his chances of Cap finding him in time. "Tell you what?"
Bruce could hear fingers squeezing the metal of the gun as the man got agitated. "Don't be cute. You know what. What are you here for?"
That wasn't what Bruce was expecting. Some of the panic ebbed away, and it was like the sun chasing away the clouds in his head. A million possibilities bounced around. Bruce rolled them around in his mind, trying them out. He had thought he was here to be killed, but why would someone working for the terrorist group not know what secrets they were holding within those very walls?
Unless he wasn't working for them.
A two player game quickly became a three player game.
Bruce decided to stay ambiguous to keep his advantage. "The same as you, I suppose."
The growl of the man attested to his displeasure of this answer. "They don't send the Avengers for just anythin'. There's somethin' here, ain't there? Somethin' important?"
Bruce didn't answer. He knew exactly what the intel was they were sent to retrieve, and why it was imperative that they sent all Avengers, so the mission could be completed with breathing room. He knew what the hard drive the information was stored on looked like, down to the dimensions. He knew all the passcodes and how to wipe the drive. He knew in graphic detail what would happen if the mission wasn't completed.
When Fury calls with the request to kindly prevent nuclear launch codes from getting into the wrong hands, not even Earth's Mightiest Egotists dare to argue.
Bruce knew how imperative it was to keep all information to himself, because the destruction America would face if the codes landed in the laps of the wrong men was extensive, and that was only putting it mildly.
But the other man seemed to have a different idea as to what would be happening. Bruce barely had time to register the blur of a fist in motion before his head snapped back violently in the wake of contact. Pain bloomed hot and pulsing on his cheek.
For a terrifying second, Bruce almost lost control of his fragile hold on the beast. He grit his teeth as he desperately tried to rein in the Hulk. He couldn't Hulk out right now. He would kill everyone on the complex. They had him recovering intel with Cap so he wouldn't be caught in the fray, where there was every chance of him slipping in his control for just a second. Sounds of the fighting outside the room reached his ears even through the thick door, and Bruce came to the grim conclusion that if he let out the beast, Cap would definitely be killed in the wake of his destruction.
The man had circled around to the front, and Bruce finally got his first look at his features. His face was ruddy, eyebrows pulled together and mouth twisted into an unpleasant sneer. He was pretty young, but the confidence that cloaked him let Bruce know that he had been at this for a long time. "I will break every bone in your body," the man said slowly, softly, like he was awed by the power he had over Bruce. "I will get you to the point of death and you will be begging me to finish you off, but I won't. I won't do it. You will tell me why you are here. What you're lookin' for."
It took a second to lock his panic in a box of resolve. His words were measured. "I'm not telling you anything."
The second punch to the nose wasn't unexpected, but Bruce found that you never really could brace yourself for pain. The copper taste in his mouth confirmed his suspicions of a broken nose, and the heat poking its insistent fingers into his cheek announced the presence of a forming bruise. The monster within his bones firmly broadcasted its disapproval of the situation, but Bruce took a deep breath and let himself drift away from his aching body. He only slightly registered the other man delivering punch after throbbing punch, pummeling him like he could somehow force the answers out. He was only dimly aware of the sounds of fighting drawing to a close outside. He was utterly untouchable, and was quite content to stay that way.
But the other man dug his fingers into Bruce's jaw and forced the doctor's eyes to his own. His fingers shook with anger. "I can do this all day. Don't doubt me."
"I don't," Bruce said thickly. He spat a wad of blood to the side. "But you shouldn't doubt me either."
That earned Bruce a swipe across the face, the man's fingernails leaving five even gashes upon his cheek. His lips felt too big and warm. His ribs ached. His mind was straining against the Hulk. He was utterly exhausted. The fingers he had clenched around the beast in his mind were loosening. But he wouldn't let go. He couldn't.
The man's hand was fisted in Bruce's shirt, pulling him close. His other hand was clenched and poised to strike again, but he paused, eyes distant, intent.
He seemed to realize at the same time as Bruce that it was completely silent outside.
"What the he—"
He didn't get a chance to say anything else.
He pitched forward at the sound of a bang, and Steve Rogers was revealed, gun extended shoulder-level, unwaveringly honest in what it had just done. Steve's face was stony, unremorseful to the fact that he had just killed a man.
Bruce stared at the dead man, a line of blood weaving its way down from a perfectly centered hole in his forehead.
"I didn't tell him anything, Cap," Bruce said plainly, after a silent minute passed. Dimly he registered how much he sounded like a little kid right then, but his mind was humming so loudly he couldn't bring himself to care.
"I know, Bruce. That's all I could ever ask of you." Cap's voice was toned with the gentleness of handling a child, and Bruce detachedly registered that that was probably really ironic. Wasn't Cap younger than him? Or was he older?
Steve knelt and gently sawed at the ropes anchoring Bruce's arms to the chair with his knife. He quickly moved onto his feet.
Bruce lifted a shaky hand to probe his throbbing nose. It came away red.
Cap quickly aided Bruce to his feet. He didn't ask if Bruce needed help, because he knew with a look that he did. He just threaded his arm around Bruce's waist and together, they hobbled toward the door. Cap didn't say anything as Bruce's legs buckled, almost taking them both to the floor. He didn't acknowledge the fact that he was carrying more of Bruce's weight than Bruce was. He just reinforced his grip and soldiered on.
Bruce's eyebrows knit as they crossed the room where Bruce had first been taken hostage. There were no less than a dozen bodies, each contorted it its own form of silent death. Bruce dragged his heavy head to look up at Steve, but Steve was staring resolutely forward. His forced indifference was enough of an answer to Bruce's unasked question.
As they reached the stairs that would take them back to their team, Bruce caught a glimpse of himself in the tinted window of an office. Contusions swelled his face to an abnormal size. Blood stuck to his upper lip and shirt. After thoroughly staring at his nose, he decided it was definitely off-kilter.
Cap had stopped when Bruce had, and now he met his eyes through the glass. "He got a good beating in, didn't he?" Steve said softly.
Bruce touched a dark bruise on his jaw, as if trying to decide if the past hour had actually happened. He knew how terrible he looked, how it looked like he had lost the fight. He felt the need to remind Cap that he had won, as if the other man were secretly deeming him weak. "I didn't tell him anything. I knew if I let the Hulk out, I'd kill you. So I didn't. I didn't tell him anything, Cap."
"I know. And I'm very thankful."
Bruce was satisfied with that answer, even if he didn't know exactly why. Cap chuckled at his complacency. "I'm pretty sure you have a concussion."
Bruce didn't really know when that had happened, but his head was pounding and his words felt thick and awkward in his mouth, so he didn't argue Steve's prognosis.
Cap laughed again, and the sound looked so nice against the worry lines and sadness etched into his eyes. "C'mon. The others are waiting for us."
They were halfway up the steps before Bruce ground his heels into the cement again. A thought had swum through the fuzziness and settled itself in the forefront of his mind. "What about the hard drive? We came all the way for it."
Cap gently spurred them into motion again and Bruce was too tired and aching to put up much of a fight. "I found the hard drive," Steve said.
Bruce blinked. "Oh." Another tortuously slow three steps passed under their feet before he had the sense of mind to ask, "Did you wipe it?"
"Yes." At Bruce's mildly surprised look, he rolled his eyes. "I'm not as useless as you guys make me out to be."
As they reached the top of the stairs and the warm sunlight wrapped Bruce in its soothing embrace, Bruce watched their teammates devour the distance lying between them with their running strides. He saw freedom color the world a hazy gold, and he felt safe for the first time in a long time with Cap's supportive arm around his shoulders. Bruce glanced up knowledgeably at Steve. "You're not useless at all."
And that, Bruce knew, was fact.
fin.
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