A/N: hey. It's been a while. But I'm back on for the summer. And more fics. And I know this one really is t accurate towards comics, in fact, its sheer imagination. So if it's inaccurate or not to your liking, you don't have to read it. But danke (thanks).

Disclaimer: person: you don't own The Avengers.

Me: " 'yOU don'T OwN tHE AVengERs.' "

Me: *a second or five of silence* "yeah.. you're right. I don't."

That's all the comic relief you'll get here. Hope you enjoy. And I almost cried while writing this. But enjoyyyyyy. ;)

Momma had been packing up suitcases full of her and Bruce's belongings while Father was at work. Keeping them hidden was quite a challenge; had Father seen them, he would have gotten rather suspicious. Luckily, he worked late hours, giving the duo back at the house much more time to prepare themselves for escape. Today, they had planned to leave, but Father came home early and unexpected. This was terrible news for Momma and Bruce.

"NonononoNO!" He screamed, trying to muffle his mouth so Father couldn't hear. He kicked and pounded on the window as Father dragged Momma out of the car and onto the rough pavement. His glasses fogged up as his eyes teared up. "Trying to RUN AWAY?!" He heard Father scream, choking Momma. Gagging and breath struggles escaped her throat as Father clenched harder.

Finally, he let go. Momma collapsed on the ground, once again struggling for air. "RUN AWAY, REBECCA?! WITH THAT LITTLE...?!" Father drifted off, pointing at Bruce. Little Banner was looking out of the car window the entire time, wearing a mortified expression. "Brian, please-" The words barely fell from her tongue when he took her up and slammed her back on the ground. "DON'T GIVE ME THAT!" With that, he dragged her damaged body and hung her in the air, by her hair.

Momma clenched her hands around her forehead in agony, tears rolling down her bloody, bruised face. Father slammed her head onto the driveway. Then, he leaned down and whispered, "I will get that deformed mongrel out of the way, be it the last thing I do, Rebecca. And if you try to stop me, I will plow you down and remove the deceit that monster is brainwashing you with." He dragged her up once again, making more blood and seemingly fatal wounds show to Bruce. "I WILL MAKE YOU SEE THE TRUTH!" Father screamed, bashing Momma's head into the pavement with each syllable.

Bruce felt his chest die for air, puffing away as the scene grew more intense. The lightheadedness he felt was nothing compared to the heartache and torment it was to watch his own mother get beaten. He didn't bother to slide his fogged glasses back up his nose bridge as the little boy pounded on the car's window. "Momma! No!" He screamed. Then, Father looked at Bruce menacingly. After smirking, seeing that his pathetic excuse of a son wasn't enjoying what he saw, Father then looked down at Momma, slugging her with each passing second. Momma was shrieking in pain. Blood seeped from the head wounds she received from Father. "BRIAN!" She croaked out between lashes. A stick slammed brutally across her face. More blood oozed out of her face and body.

Father stopped to take breaths. That's when Momma barely crawled to her feet, rushing back over to the car. She gave a loving look towards her only son. Bruce returned the look, not caring about Momma's bloody and tattered physique while she stared. The gleam, the deep pools of love were brewing with fear. But the fear wasn't for herself; she gave up hope. None of the ruthless beatings she had ever received from Father were ever as bad as the current one. 'Run', she mouthed to little Bruce. As she reached for the handle, Father shouted. "WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!" Momma turned around. "Brian, NO! PLEASE!" She cried out. Father reached for her head. "DON'T YOU FUCKING WORRY, REBECCA. IT'LL ALL BE BETTER..." Father boomed.

The moment had gone by fast to Bruce. He was too caught in it to think much else. But this... this caught his attention.

Father slammed Momma's head into the driveway one final time, but this time with extreme force. "...WHEN YOU'RE OUT OF THE WAY." Father finished off his sentence. Little Bruce watched as blood oozed from many locations of Momma's beaten and destructed body. Red, black and blue bruises covered her corpse, and her limbs were doused in blood. "All I wanted was a family. To be happy with you. But you ruined it, Brian. You caused this." Momma said, struggling to balance the body weight on her near-broken arms. The words fell out chopped, as if it was a task to say them.

Father took the stick off of the driveway ground and brutally switched her body with it. "I'M TRYING TO PROTECT YOU! AND IF YOU DON'T WANT THAT, I WON'T LET THAT.. THAT FAILED EXPERIMENT YOU CALL A CHILD RUIN YOU!" Finally, he leaned down, picked her up with cradled arms, and covered her mouth for his next move. "...and if you won't let me protect you from him, then I can only ensure you're safe by ending you myself, Rebecca."

A muffled scream came from the pits of her voice box, bloodied tears falling down her broken and damaged head. Father threw her down in a brutish, animalistic way; simply letting her fall directly out of his arms, face first onto the cold concrete. The man snapped the stick in half, making a sharp end where the pressure released, forming two wooden blades. He threw them both at her, missing rather badly (and fortunately for Bruce), but this only enraged him. Father kicked and punched and slapped at Momma until her body went completely limp.

Her face was facing the car window. The deep, emotion-filled reservoirs of love, concern and fear that were once her eyes now seemed like empty, bottomless pits of melancholy, tears bloodied by the bruises on her forehead pouring out. But when Bruce looked into her eyes, they were watery, gray and lifeless. Her skin was a pale white and her chest stopped moving, as if she had been impaled. The expression left on her face seemed to be composed of shock, and though it took that form, the eyes made the majority of her expression seem like her death was expected this way.

Bruce screamed and cried for his Momma, something she hadn't learned how to do for her own safety. The little boy really wanted to open the car door and reach for his passed away mother, but he was terrified of Father's traumatizing, intimidating wrath. Risking his safety, he did so, but very quickly and quietly. He got onto his knees and examined his mother's lost, shocked expression, wiping away the blood that was drying on her face. Of course, this triggered Father.

Little Bruce got up and ran as Father thundered after him, gaining on his tail as he ran into the bathroom and locked the door. The tiny, terrified child opened a cabinet and hid himself from Father, who was beating the door with all of his might. Bruce closed the cabinet door and sat in the pitch black darkness. The banging and pounding only got louder and even more relentless than before. Moments later, shards of wood could be heard clattering against the tile floor as maniacal, neurotic laughter echoed through the room, bouncing off of the walls.

Little Bruce realized that he couldn't escape this haunting when Father's footsteps became louder and clearer, showing that evidently, his monster of a father was getting closer with each passing second. Suddenly, the cabinet doors swung open, nearly busting off of its hinges, and the same maniacal laughter the traumatized child heard minutes ago sounded and put him on end. A big, sweaty, blood covered hand took him by the shirt. Little Bruce began screaming, but nothing was heard after his mouth was muzzled by the same hand that snatched him up only mere seconds ago.

"MOMMA! MOMMA!" Bruce cried. He looked up at Father, who glanced at him and smirked a scary, imperious smile. "Momma's long gone, boy. Shut up." Before much could be processed, Bruce was falling down the stairs as an avalanche of chinaware shards clattered with him, piercing his skin. A muffled shriek absconded his throat, and more ceramic glass came after him. When he landed at the bottom of the flight of stairs, there was a shout from above as Father found a knife. Seeing this, Bruce gasped and ran.

Bruce was always a frail, scrawny boy. Running hadn't been his best ability. But this time, he was running. He blitzed into a room and locked the door tight, unlatching the window and trying to climb out. The knife pierced the oak wooden door and it broke, the twindling sound echoing Bruce's mind. A horrific look gleamed in Father's eyes as he approached Bruce with undeniably terrible intentions. He raised his fist and hit the little child. "You'll be nothing when I'm finished with you," he sneered. Bruce cried. He screamed and shouted and received the ruthless beating he ultimately didn't deserve. "I'll beat your sorry ass for ever coming into this damn family, you fuck up." Father said, punching and kicking and throwing his child.

Hours later, Father took Bruce into the basement. "Now, tell anyone about this, and you'll die in the pits of bloody, burning hell, kid." And with that, he threw Bruce down the steps.

oxoxo

Bruce flinched awake just as he hit the ground. He was covered in sweat and his eyes were thronged with barrels of tears that could and would spill at any given moment. In the bed, he crouched his knees together up to his chest and controlled his breathing, trying to convince his other side that it was okay, and that there was no need to come out. Father was dead. Father was dead, and he was the reason why. Hell, he couldn't even call him "Father." Brian was gone, long gone, and that was for the good of the world. But just because something's gone doesn't mean it won't return in another form to haunt you.

Bruce cradled himself back and forth, still trying to convince his monster that Brian was dead, gone, deceased, and that they were just flashbacks that rose out of the pit of deadly memories. However, it was hard to convince his other half of he couldn't even reassure his reasonable, good-minded half. Thinking at all was a complete challenge; his mental state was too emotional. And that's what got to him. Emotions. For the longest time, his good-natured half had receded that form of torture. But then.. The Hulk.

So, in an effort to not destroy much at all, the doctor quietly wept in his bed as a slow, sad song on the radio played. He wept over his mother. She was the only one who cared about him. Of course, people did now. He even has Pepper and Tony, and even J.A.R.V.I.S., but his mom was the one who genuinely cared for him from the start. Quick, quiet whimpers came from him. And some crooning was heard in his head. He guessed his beast, his second conscience was crying on the inside as well.

Another slow song turned onto the radio. Ironically, it matched the precise situation. A soft, angelic voice sounded from the radio as Bruce cried harder. "Ima care for you, you you..." This caught his attention, causing him to go into deep thought about his mom. "Ohh, Ima care... for you, you, you.." The voice sang as Bruce cried harder. Soon enough, he began sobbing. Full on sobbing. "Momma.." he whimpered quietly as a slow, sad sounding but yet attention-catching song played in the background.

"I just want you back, Momma. Just you.." he said, his mind temporarily going numb from emotions once again. Bruce couldn't take the pain. It was already enough, trying his hardest, fighting tooth and nail to keep himself from becoming The Hulk, the extra emotional tension was too much. "Momma.." he whispered as the last bit of on-the-cusp-of-normal Bruce receded. There he remained, in his bed, clutching a pillow and hearing out the radio.

A/N: ;(((. I hate Bruce's dad. And good on you if you knew the song that was referenced. But good night. It's 1:30 am. *yawn*