A/N: Happy Fourth of July to my fellow Americans! Or in this fandom should I be saying "happy birthday Steve Rogers" instead?

RETURNING READERS: Please note that I posted two chapters at the same time, so if you clicked that little arrow that brings you to the latest chapter you might need to go back and read chapter five. Trust me, the fic reads much better in order.

Warning: This chapter contains scenes of child and spousal abuse.

The bridge of the Helicarrier was chaos.

Bullets were whizzing through the air. Wolves were barking. Agents were shouting orders. Tony was a brilliant flash of red and gold through the window.

And in the middle of it all was the little girl clad in pink floating towards Bruce.

Bruce searched his mind for a familiar growl, but even this pandemonium was not enough to awaken the Other Guy.

Agent Hill was pushing Bruce back, acting as a barrier between him and the girl. The robots swarmed around her, recognizing her as an obstacle. Tony was blasting through the glass. Hill and Bruce were still backing up until he was sandwiched between her and the table.

"Enough of this!" The girl cried. Bullets were floating uselessly around her.

Bruce jumped as he felt something grab his ankle hard. He looked down to see Kaul who had been hiding under the table. The communications expert now was gripping his leg with a surprising strength, staring up at him.

And then Bruce was underwater. He gasped in shock. But his lungs did not fill with liquid. He was… no, it wasn't underwater, it was rain. A drenching downpour. The rain fell in sheets around him, quickly soaking his clothes.

Tony was yelling in shock in his ear, the rest of his friends were giving their own confused shouts.

"Stark, what is it?!" Steve managed above the din.

"Bruce?! Bruce! Where are you? What happened?"

His head ached and he couldn't feel his feet. Bruce choked out a reply, "I don't know. It's raining. It's…" He shook his head in disbelief.

"Someone explain now," Natasha's voice was sharp.

"He disappeared from the Helicarrier – transported – teleported somewhere," Tony was still shouting.

"The girl is here. And…" Bruce took in his surroundings.

"And the entire wolf army?" Tony groaned.

"Gee. How'd you know?" Yellow eyes leered up at Bruce from every direction. The girl was panicking about the downpour ruining her dress and had managed to produce an umbrella from seemingly nowhere.

"JARVIS track Bruce through his comm signal," Tony ordered.

"Already being done sir. However, the fact that the signal was routed through the SHIELD servers is making it difficult to pinpoint the correct location. SHIELD runs encryption software meant to hide signal sources. This may take some time."

"Dr. Banner, do you recognize anything about your location?" Steve was keeping his head as usual.

"No. I… It's raining. I think it's still light out, but the sun is setting. So I'm in the same time zone, but… Uh… We're next to a river. There's snow… slush on the ground. And there's a forest. A deciduous forest."

"A what?"

Right. Speak like a normal person. This was not the time to be thinking about the botany of maple trees. "N-New England. I think I'm in the New England area," Bruce fought back a shiver. The girl had finally managed to wrestle open her umbrella, but her pink dress had already been soaked into a maroon color. She sailed through the air towards him, a trio of wolves at her heels.

"On my way. Looks like a storm is moving through New Hampshire and Maine right now. JARVIS will have you tracked by the time I'm in the area," said Tony.

"But it will be a while before you get here," Bruce murmured.

"Just hang in there. Full speed, I should be there in twenty minutes."

"We're at least thirty out. Try and distract the girl or something," Clint suggested.

"Or something…"Bruce took a deep breath, and forced himself sideways through the single gap in wolves and into the forest. He slipped a bit on the slick fallen leaves, his bare feet slapping through puddles and mud. The girl was shouting something. Growling and barking quickly followed.

"Are you running?" Natasha guessed.

"Oh, you know me. I love being chased." Bruce ducked under some low-hanging branches.

Tony snorted. "I swear you've made more jokes today than you have in the entire time I've known you."

"Ah. Well, I babble when I panic. You just don't get to see me panicking very often."

"And I admit I'm enjoying it very much."

"Gee thanks." Bruce skid in a patch of wet leaves as he dodged more trees. The understory was making it difficult to navigate the dark forest. "Are you saying the Other Guy doesn't make unnecessary quips for your amusement?"

"He is a man of few words."

"Ah yes. Just 'smash' or 'puny' right?"

Tony was having way too much fun, "And lots of roaring."

"At least my panic is making whatever this transformation is last. I think I may be able to keep up this pace." Bruce could hear barking a ways behind him; he had put some distance between himself and his pursuers. He grimaced as he splashed through a puddle and found sharp rocks at the bottom. "I just wish I had my shoes with me."

"You're barefoot?"

"My feet suddenly grew too big for my shoes, so I left them in the Helicarrier. I guess I should have foreseen that I'd be running on wet leaves and slimy rocks."

"Woah! Hey! You're going to jinx yourself and fall!" Clint warned just as Bruce's foot tangled in a particularly stubborn thicket and he went hurtling to the ground. Branches scratched at his arms and face as he fell into the brush.

"Oof!"

"Barton! That one's on you!" Natasha chided.

"You alright Bruce?" Steve asked.

"Yeah, fine," he peered behind him as he began to run again, "They're catching up though." It was about twenty more paces before he heard it and let out a groan. More evidence for his hypothesis. "Uh oh."

"What? No 'uh oh's. Why would you 'uh oh?'" Tony's bravado was wearing thin. The concern seeping into his voice unnerved Bruce more than the sound of the river growing louder as he ran.

"I think I'm running towards the river. There must be a bend in it."

"Can you change direction?" asked Steve.

Bruce looked around and winced. "Uh, no. They're on all sides."

"Then swim—"

"From the sound of it, the water's moving fast and I'm… not very good at swimming." Bruce admitted. It's not like he got lessons as a child. This was it. "How's it going JARVIS?" Bruce called to his last spark of hope.

"Just finished, sir," the computer's smooth voice reported. "Dr. Banner is in southern Maine. Sending coordinates now."

"Alright Bruce, just give me fifteen minutes." Tony called.

"I'll give you fifteen if the river gives me fifteen."

"Maybe it'll be small enough to jump over." Clint said hopefully.

Bruce broke through the trees and gave a strangled laugh. The water frothed with white as it slapped forcefully against rocks jutting out from the stream. It was at least thirty feet across.

"I take that as a no."

"Nope," Bruce swung his weight to the side, forcing his momentum to shift so he could run alongside the river. He knew it was no use; he barely managed five strides before the wolves were upon him. Snarling filled his ears as the canines lunged. He felt their wet fur under his fists as he tried to defend himself. They overpowered him quickly; his newfound strength was useless against their numbers. Too bad he couldn't go back to five on one, like before.

He gasped in pain as a set of metal jaws pierced just above his ankle. "G-get off!" He managed to send a few flying, but then another wave swept in and he was pulled under. Claws and teeth. Growls and snarls. He saw stars as one of their heads rammed into his jaw, snapping his teeth together. He must have cried out, because his friends' voices were in his ear, trying to reassure him that help was on the way.

Then the girl appeared out of the forest. "No! Stop! You weren't supposed to hurt him! You were only supposed to stop him! He's stopped!" Her hands wrung the handle of her umbrella and she shook her head fervently. "Just hold him still, okay?" She turned to Bruce and her tone softened, "I'm sorry. I didn't want them to beat you up. I only told them to stop you from running."

Bruce did not reply. He tried to focus on his breathing in order to calm the pain running through his jaw.

The girl sighed. "Well, I'd hate for you to go through all of that for nothing. I'll start now." She reached forward, hand outstretched. Bruce leaned away, but two wolves on either side of him held him in place, their jaws gripping his arms. She rested her palm gently on his forehead. "You still don't think this is a good idea."

"Why do you think I ran?" Bruce slurred. Great. He sounded awful.

"Bruce…" And his friends noticed.

"This can work though. I just need to delve deeper this time. Last time I just took the memories of your first transformation, your anger, and sealed those up. A mental block if you will." She tilted her head in thought. "You somehow got around that block though. Don't worry though. I'll figure out my mistake and fix it."

"By poking around in my head more? No thanks."

"No thanks? But I'm getting rid of the Hulk… The Other Guy. That's what you want right?" She smiled. "You call him the Other Guy right?" She giggled. "I can read that off of you. Not exactly reading minds, but something similar. I can read it off of you easily, just like I can read..." her eyes closed in concentration, "That the last time you were hit this hard in your human form was by your father."

"I – What?" Bruce's voice cracked.

"When you were young, your father would hit you. He would hit your mother too because she was protecting you." The girl's voice was calm and steady as if she was reading out loud, but when she opened her eyes Bruce could see a sheen to them. The girl quickly wiped the tears away and gave an unconvincing grin. "See?" Bruce did not see. He was too stunned that his childhood had been revealed from a single touch. The girl continued explaining, "You weren't actually thinking thinking that, were you? It was just something your mind and body associate with being hurt, so if you're hurt, you're reminded of it, even if you push it to the veeery back of your mind, and I," she puffed out her chest, "can read that. I read what the body remembers. Emotions, smells, touch, and pictures are easiest to sense, but I'm strong enough to get words and sounds too. I just reach in and pull the memories up, up, up to the surface!"

"Pull them up." Bruce echoed numbly. "Is that why I've been thinking about all these miserable things this week?"

"Have you?" She tilted her head to one side as she considered this. "That's weird. I've never had a lingering side effect like that. Then again, I don't usually get to see my patients a second time. You're kinda a weird case. You know, with the split personality and all. Or whatever they're calling it these days. There's some new special term that I can never remember… Ah!" She clapped a hand against her cheek. "But that's it! Last time I was trying my hardest to draw up the memories of the Hulk's birth, that way I could erase that anger for you. If you're remembering different memories than the ones I fixed, that means those are the ones I need to target!" She clapped her hands together and her cherub face lit up with delight. "So? You have to tell me! What have you been remembering lately?"

Bruce felt coldness in the pit of his stomach he knew was not connected to the freezing rain. Those memories… He carried them around all the time, but this week they had been so vivid, as if the wounds were fresh and the years he had spent learning how to push them down and bury them deep had not occurred. They now came unbidden to his mind; the incident with Kaul in the medical ward had only been one of several moments. His dreams were interrupted by images of his father and mother, screams of both terror and anger, and most of all pain and shock.

Parents were supposed to love their children. They were supposed to protect them and encourage them. Keep them safe and help them grow. But he had not had that. Reality had betrayed him and these idealistic notions were fantasies other children weaved false tales of, just to tease him.

"You're thinking about it right now!" The girl's voice snapped Bruce back to the present. She reached out to touch his cheek, but Bruce sunk away from the touch. Think about something else. Think about anything else.

She let the umbrella rest against her shoulder and reached out with both hands. "Hold still please!" Her fingertips brushed against his cheeks. "Alright let's see… You're cold and in pain… Still getting stuff on your dad…"

The pressure was building in his head. The smell of bleach filled his nose. The scent was seeping out from the memory she was drawing forth. Bruce knew which memory it would be.

His mother always cleaned the house after one of the "fights."

The world shifted.

He was back at the old house in Ohio. It was cloudy out. Pale gray light streamed through the window and there was a chill in the air, despite the fact that he was inside. The bleach smell was emanating from the kitchen, where Bruce could still see a mop leaning against the wall.

"Here." Bruce's small hands pressed a cool compress to his mom's bruised face. "I was reading that the cold not only helps numb the pain, but it reduces swelling which will help you heal faster."

She smiled up at him from where she lay on the couch. "You're going to be a great doctor some day. You're so smart."

He winced at her words, but she reached out and held his shoulders. "That is not a bad thing."

"But he says…"

"I know what he says, but he can be wrong about things. And he's wrong about this. You've nothing to be ashamed of. You're smart and kind and brave—"

"I'm not though! I'm not brave at all!" There was a hitch in Bruce's breath, but he bit down on the inside of his cheek to keep it from going further. He would not cry in front of his mom. He swallowed hard and continued in a softer voice. "If I was brave, I'd be able to stop him from hurting you…"

"You're doing more than enough, Bruce." She swept his curly bangs away to one side with a thin hand.

"…You should let him hit me instead."

Her fingers stilled upon his forehead and she seemed to be holding her breath.

Bruce pressed on. "He only hits you because you won't let him hit me. He hates me. Not you. He hates m-me." His voice broke as another hitch of breath shook his small frame. "Y-you should too. I'm the reason you're in pain. You should—"

"Never." She whispered and enveloped him in an embrace.

He trembled and soon tears were streaming down his face, his nose was running, his breath coming in sobs. She held him close, rubbing circles on his back until his breathing eased into a steady rhythm again.

"Bruce… You're father doesn't hate you. He's just scared because there are some things about you that he doesn't understand. Sometimes fear can look a lot like anger…"

"Aaaaaaaaaaaahh!"

Bruce jolted back to reality as the girl cried out in frustration.

"It's soooo obvious! Aaaah!" She tugged on her pigtails. "My mama was right. Just 'cause someone's in charge doesn't mean they're always right. You see? You see?!" She waved her arms frantically as if that would help Bruce spot her mistake in the empty air. "They said I should just be erasing anger! But that's wrong. I should be erasing fear too! That's what's driving the anger, and that means it's what drives the Hulk." She giggled and clapped her hands together. "Okay! This should be super easy. I just need you to think of the time when your fear was super strong. The scariest moment of your life!"

"No… No that's okay."

The girl froze and her bright smile faded into a confused stare. "What?"

Bruce cleared his throat. "I don't need you sealing up anything. I'd rather not have anyone mess with my memories." He'd rather keep them buried in the back of his mind for as long as he could manage.

She laughed and returned a hand to the side of his face. "You silly. This is what I do. I don't mess things up. I fix them. I'm a healer." She paused and tilted here head as if she were listening to something. "You don't believe me… You think removing emotions won't help anything. But it will. I'm removing bad stuff like… like a surgeon getting rid of a tumor!" She nodded at her own analogy. "I only remove the bad emotions. And whatever memories I need to fix must be really scary. It'd be good to get rid of them. I'm a healer!" She insisted again and put her hands on her hips. "I take out the bad things and help people heal. I can help you heal too!"

Bruce tried to smile at her naïve logic. "Sorry. But that's my entire childhood you're trying to erase."

"No, it's just the scary parts—"

"But that's just it." Bruce forced his voice to stay even. "That would be most of my childhood. It was one scary part after another. And in between was the waiting. Waiting for the next time bomb to go off. You can't erase all of that and expect me to be the same person."

"But it'll get rid of the Hulk!"

Bruce sighed. Years ago he might have agreed to let this girl dive into his mind and erase every negative feeling if it would mean the Hulk would be gone for good. But Nagata was right. He needed all of his emotions, even the negative ones. If he could look back on his childhood without any anger or fear there would be something very wrong with him. More wrong than growing three feet in height and turning green.

Following that line of logic led to another conclusion. One he'd been denying for years, despite the growing evidence to support it. He said "The Other Guy" as if he and the Hulk were truly separate entities, but the truth was he should be saying "My Other Half." If this girl did erase the Hulk, Bruce would be a different person. A person missing a piece of himself.

"Oh." The girl's face fell. She had returned her hands to either side of Bruce's face. "You think he's a part of you. You're fighting me on this because you want to stay whole." She said the words slowly as if they were an alien language. After a moment she shook her head, and the confusion cleared from her face. "You think you'll lose something, but that's not true! He's taken so much from you. We need to get rid of him before he takes more! Think of all those people you had to leave behind because of him." Familiar faces floated to the surface of Bruce's mind at the girl's bidding. "Betty! Stanley! Rick!"

His heart ached as he thought of them. They seemed to exist in a past life. Something so far away.

But at the same time more faces filled his mind, and a bubble of hope rose in his chest. New friends that trusted him despite the Hulk. New friends that he had met because of the Hulk.

"You think a team of misfits is worth all the pain he's caused you? You could have a real family instead!"

A family with Betty. They had been living together only four months when the accident at the lab had occurred, cutting their life full of happiness short, throwing him into a life full of paranoia and fear once more. His mother's ring had been curled safely in a pair of black socks waiting for the perfect moment for him to ask her to stay forever. A child with soft brown curls and Betty's dimples was never to be. All of it was lost.

"People can't always have what they want." Bruce answered softly, but then he thought of working in the lab with Tony, making lunch with Pepper, helping Steve with his new computer, discussing exotic foods with Natasha, arguing with Clint about giving his shoulder proper time to heal. "But we manage." He smiled. It had not been what he had pictured with Betty, but he still appreciated how fortunate he was to have it in his life.

"It won't last! You know it won't last. It's only a matter of time until the control slips and he begins killing innocent people again. Remember the ones he already hurt! Remember Ryan Metzen! Jessica Weise! Ha Eun Lee-!"

He winced as their bloody and broken faces filled his mind. "I know! I know. I remember every single one of them. Every single name. You don't need to… to repeat them."

"But you're acting like you've forgotten. It could happen anytime! You think he's controlled now. That maybe you can help people through him now, but how long? How long until the control slips and you kill more innocent people?"

"You better not be listening to her!" Bruce jumped at the sound of Clint's voice. He had forgotten about the earpiece.

"Bruce—Bruce listen to me." Natasha's calm tones interrupted. "You won't lose control. We've watched you the past year and we've fought alongside you. You have our trust because we know you won't lose control."

"And even if you had a bad day, we'd be there. We'd help you." Sincerity rang through Tony's usually sarcastic voice.

"They'd help me," Bruce repeated back to the girl.

"They would lock you up. Put you in a cage. Just like… Just like the closet! Remember! It was so dark and small and –"

"I remember! Those are my memories you're poking around; I haven't forgotten a single one. You're just repeating back to me everything I know already. Thoughts I've already had. And if I wasn't able to convince myself, what makes you think you can?"

"But you did convince yourself! You knew the control is temporary. You chose death over killing others! You had months to change your mind, but still you traveled all the way up to the Arctic Circle and you still tried."

Bruce shivered as his most desperate moment played in his mind. He swallowed the lump in his throat and continued with his line of logic. "But even then I knew." He may have not admitted it to himself but he knew. "You can't kill one of us without killing the other."

"But I'm different! I can get rid of only him. You'll be perfectly fine."

Bruce shook his head. "What you did last time didn't affect only him. It's been affecting me too. I'm missing an emotion right now, and if you keep removing them you're going to turn me into a… an emotionless psychopath. It's not right. What you're doing is harmful and wrong."

The girl's brow pinched together as she searched for another argument. "It's not wrong. How could it be wrong? I'm taking away the pain. I don't hurt anyone. I wouldn't hurt you. I'm a healer." She began to tug at her pigtails again, and her wide eyes darted from Bruce to the wolves to the sky as she spoke. "It can't be wrong. It can't be."

The hairs on the back of Bruce's neck stood on end. He tried yanking his arms from the wolves' grasp, but the robots' grips were firm. His logical argument may have made the situation more dangerous than before.

Sure enough, a moment later the girl shook her head and swooped towards him with hands outstretched. "I'll show you!" She cried as she grasped his head with both hands. "It isn't wrong! I'll get rid of the Hulk without hurting you! I can do it! It's not wrong! I helped those people. I helped all of those people! Everything I've been doing isn't wrong!"

Apparently shattering someone's belief system when they hold all the power was a bad move. Bruce made a mental note to never try something like that ever again, right before the pressure built in his head and the world around him shifted once more.

They had been eating dinner when his father had started to throw things. Bruce sat frozen, holding his breath, but tears stung the back of his eyes. The tears pushed forward until they finally dribbled down his face and then his father was screaming at him and then his mother was there. She always intervened, and she always got hit. But today she screamed back. She was doing that more and more, but that scared Bruce more because his father would get even angrier.

But no, that wasn't right. There was no screaming here. Only the roaring sound of the river and the hissing of the rain and—

"Alright Mr. Banner, it's time for you to go home."

Bruce looked up from the biology textbook to see the school librarian smiling down at him. She had her purse already packed up and several of the lights in the library were already turned off for the night.

"It's almost dinnertime. I'm sure your parents must be worried about you." She peered at the page the textbook was open to. "Don't worry. The immunoglobulins can wait until the morning. Why don't I give you a ride home?"

Bruce broke into a cold sweat at the mention of home. He didn't want to go. After school he had gone straight to the library to immerse himself in silence and books. He didn't want to return to the screaming and the raised fists.

And he didn't have to. That was years ago and he was states away from his old house—

This time he was hiding in his bedroom closet. He had a flashlight clutched in his sweaty hand as he tried to read the textbook before him. But even as he whispered equations aloud, he couldn't block out the screaming match his parents were having.

"Where is he?!" His father roared and Bruce's heart sank. He clicked off his flashlight and pushed the textbook under a pile of clothes. If his father found it he would rip it up like the last book Bruce got from the library—

He wasn't in the in the dark closet. He was outside. He was next to the river, still being pelted by cold rain.

He started sleeping with his shoes on. It should have been uncomfortable, but instead it made him feel safe. He could bolt at any moment. Run out the door and leave everything behind. No more pain or fear or anger. Just freedom.

But he wouldn't. His mom needed him. And she didn't have tennis shoes.

But he didn't have tennis shoes right now either. He was barefoot in the forest, a wolf robot at each side and a girl holding his head with small, clammy hands.

The girl was whining something. "Stop fighting me!"

The pressure built in his head again, but this time it was more forceful. So much more that Bruce was sure his skull was being crushed. Pain flared from the sides of his face where the girls' hands lay as he was dragged into another memory.

It was different this time. It was always a fist or something thrown through the air. Whatever was nearby. But this time his father didn't throw it. Instead, the knife he had picked up in rage was still in his hand.

Bruce was used to getting hit. As he got older he refused to let his mother intervene and took the blows he knew were truly meant for him. He had been cut before. His father had thrown an empty beer bottle and the glass had cut his scalp. It had been a challenge thinking up a viable excuse to tell the doctor while he was stitched up.

But a knife was different. Bruce hesitated. He had gotten good at standing his ground. It usually made the incidents go quicker. Running resulted in a more severe punishment. But how could it get more severe than being stabbed?

He tried to run. His father leapt after him. And then there was screaming.

When Bruce made it to the door he looked back. A chill seized his body. He somehow made it to her side before his legs collapsed beneath him.

Blood was everywhere. He couldn't stop it from pouring out of her chest. He was screaming something but he couldn't hear his own voice. He held a dish towel to the wound. That's what the textbooks say. Apply pressure to the wound. What else? What else did they say?

Call for help. He somehow grabbed the phone from the counter. Blood stained the buttons as he dialed, and he pulled the phone cord taut as he crawled back to his mother's side. He didn't know what he said to the operator or if he was still screaming. What finally pulled him from his haze of panic was when the operator asked him a question.

"Is the assailant still in the house?"

Bruce looked up from his mother's still body. Her chest had stopped moving at some point during his panic. His father still stood over them, staring at his wife. The bloody knife was in his hand.

His father looked from the dead body to meet Bruce's gaze. The man's eyes were full of disgust and hate. "You did this. This is all your fault!" His father spat.

Bruce could feel the blood pounding in his head—

And then the world went blank.

He came to, retching in the back of an ambulance. He was shivering despite the blanket thrown around his shoulders and his whole body ached. His hands especially. They were swollen and covered with blood. He couldn't remember whose it was though. Mostly his mother's, probably some of his. He would learn later it was his father's as well.

"That was it." The girl's voice was soft this time as Bruce surfaced back to the present. "That blank spot. That's what we need to find and seal up. I bet that's his first memory." She grinned at him, but this time it seemed forced. Perhaps looking at other people's bad memories was not as fun as she made it sound. "I can do it. I can remove the monster completely. It will be gone forever. I can—" her words were cut off in a yelp.

Some of the wolves were lunging at the girl while Bruce looked on in confusion. She screamed as one tackled her to the ground; her umbrella caught in a gust and soared into the river. She screamed again, but this time it was in rage.

And then the wolves were rising up like helium balloons. Their legs were kicking uselessly in the air. Bruce startled as the wolves holding him down began to float as well. They snapped their jaws at him as if hoping that he might hold them down like they had held him. The entire army of robots flew up, up, up until - splash! Into the river they fell. Bruce could see some of their heads bob up for a moment, trying to get to shore, but they were quickly swept under by the white rapids.

Stunned Bruce turned to look at the girl. She was sopping wet now, without the protection of her umbrella. Her pigtails clung to her face when she whipped around to face him, her eyes furious and determined.

He was moving before it even clicked in his head that he was able to run again. Unfortunately his moment of shock had cost him too much time.

Her arms clasped around his neck and memories popped to the surface of his mind once more. He tried to push her off and break her hold, but she clung to him tighter, as if her life depended on this embrace.

The memories were coming in fragments as the girl tore at his mind, trying to find the missing piece. He could see his mother again, but she was faceless. Bleach stung his nose.

His hands scrabbled at the girl's arms in order to wrench himself away. His father was looming over him with that horrible sneer and Bruce's blood on a raised fist.

Memories that were painful, frightening, he held onto tighter than ever. She tugged at them and ripped them from him so that they surfaced. He couldn't block out the images no matter how hard he shut his eyes. They played on the back of his eyelids as the accompanying sound echoed in his mind. He was trapped in his own personal movie theater as the horror film of his childhood played on the screen and the girl searched for the right footage.

His head ached. He could still feel the girls arms locked around his neck, but the pain in his head was overpowering everything else. There was so much pain. Surely his head must be split open by now. Heat radiated from her arms pouring into his skin.

He couldn't see. He couldn't see or feel or hear. Where was he? He opened his eyes. Blood covered his mother's chest. He closed his eyes again, but someone was forcing him to look. He didn't want to. But why? Why shouldn't he look? It'd be so much easier. Just a peek and then it'd be over. The pain in his head would be gone if he looked. The phone was in his hand and the operator was asking him something. He closed his eyes and blocked his ears, but the same force that pried at his eyelids was compelled him to listen. "Is the assailant still in the house?" Why was he fighting again? Just let the scene flow. It was so easy. But no. No, he had to fight. He was fighting to stay whole. He wanted to stay whole. He had to. He had to… He looked up. His father was still standing above him.

His skin was on fire around his neck. His hands scrabbled against the girl's grip, but his hands began to burn too. The fire spread to his arms and chest and head and then his whole body was on fire. The pain consumed him.

"You did this. This is all your fault!" The man's eyes were manic. His father was coming at him.

The blood was pounding in his head and suddenly the chill around Bruce was gone and he was on fire and his limbs were no longer numb; they were strong. And his rage exploded around him and he charged at his father with a scream.

They crashed to the ground and his fist smashed against his father with as much force as his small frame could muster. Somewhere in his burning rage he felt pain flaring across his arm.

His father forced him to the ground, smashing Bruce's head against the hard tile floor. His father's hands crushed his throat and the breath rushed out of him. A glint of silver caught his eye and Bruce grabbed at it.

The knife flashed in his hand as he tore it across his father's chest, and suddenly he could breathe again. But then there was a fist striking him hard across the face and dots of light floated in front of his vision. Blindly, he drove the knife upwards. His father staggered backwards and Bruce could feel warmth splash down onto him.

The door burst open and the police streamed in. Through dim vision Bruce could see them check his father, who had collapsed to the floor, and his mother, and then they came to him.

"It's alright, son. You can put that down now. It's alright. You're safe now."

The anger was receding and the cold numbness was returning. The knife was now in the officer's hand and the officer looked at him with pity. Darkness swept over him.

Somewhere in the part of his mind that was still Bruce, there was a realization that he had never before recalled this memory. He recognized that intense, controlling anger and panic though. The girl was right. The girl, Ana, was right. This was when the Hulk had been born. It wasn't in a lab at Culver; it was here in his childhood home, facing his father down with a kitchen knife. This was when Bruce had shattered and had let the piece of him that was made of rage and fear take hold.

He was so tired. He couldn't feel his body. Was he still attached to it at this point?

There was also a sound. A soft, pitiful sound. Sobbing? Someone was crying. It wasn't him. Ana? Ana was crying. Ana was crying for him. Did that mean he was dying? Or maybe he was already dead. He felt tired enough to be.

The final thing that registered in Bruce's mind was a desire much more intense than he had felt it in years: the longing for his mother.