Okay, I read this amazing story s/8097407/1/Stilled_my_heart_this_moment by Cry4theDevil and it inspired me to write from Bruce's point of view. Nearly all imaginative creativity is not my own. This story contains No Slash.
Bruce Banner's POV
The general task at hand, keep calm. Typically this would be easy, right? Breathe, count to ten, focus on better days, the list goes on and on. Wrong. It's not that simple. This wasn't a typical day at the lab with Tony throwing around poorly chosen words, this was far more precarious. I'm trying to carry out what is expected of me and it's unbelievably difficult. Why? The entire team is out distracted by a diversion, Clint is wavering bruised and battered between to idiots and I have a gun against my spine. Sure letting the green guy out would stop these men, but it would destroy the entire Stark Mansion in moments and I couldn't bear that. So I breathe in again and reach for a vial. I can feel Clint's eyes watching me, actually, everyone's eyes watching me. I fumble, and the vial drops. Breathe. In. Out. Okay. I stooped down to clean my mess, but a hand grabs my hair and yanks my head back. I think he cursed, but I missed it. I was too busy battling. I was fighting so desperately to stay calm. I was trying so hard, but I was losing. My skin began to boil and my entire being began to tremble and I frantically groped about my mind for some soothing thought, but nothing came.
I had nearly failed when I felt strong arms wrap around me. Clint. "Bruce," he mutters, when I don't respond he says it more tenaciously. I let out a moan as I begin to fight again. It hurt so badly, but I had to overcome this. The last thing I wanted was to Hulk-out and hurt, or worse, kill him. He whispered to me, told me to hang on, told me to stay strong. It wasn't long before I was weeping. With each tear the tension was released. It didn't take long for the rage to be replaced with shame. I could have destroyed everything. If it weren't for Clint I would have for sure. I pulled back and looked at my friend, "I'm sorry," I choked out. Clint was quick to reprimand my apology, but I had to voice the guilt. "I-I could've destroyed the lab, the mansion, everything."
Sometimes I hoped that someone would just go off on me, tell me I'm a failure and a time-bomb and refuse to give me grace. But not this time; in this moment I heard exactly what I needed to hear. "But you didn't."