Just stopping by to drop off some more angst before the holidays, because the best way to spread Christmas cheer is sobbing loud for all to hear.
Okay, no, I don't think it's that bad ( I just really wanted to make a dumb Elf reference) but I hope you're all having a swell time, and I also hope you're continuing to enjoy the updates. Cheers!
It seemed as though there was nothing else in the room save Bruce and the bullet that whistled towards his head. Despite the oncoming doom, his eyes were still fixed on the man with the gun, the man who had pulled the trigger, and the man who was no longer the one Bruce had known as a friend and a lover only weeks ago.
For all he knew, it could have been ages before he finally felt the impact of the bullet in the center of his chest. The pain wasn't anything like he'd expected, in fact, he barely felt the deadly weapon pierce his skin - instead, the pain was unraveling the back of his head, the monster within him rumbling awake.
The change was surprisingly quick, and soon enough the gargantuan green form of the Hulk loomed over the five other puny figures that surrounded him. His eyes immediately zeroed in on Tony, the rough skin around them crinkling into a grimace. Slowly, heavily, he advanced forward with an outstretched arm, wrapping his fingers around Tony's middle. The gun clattered to the floor but Tony's expression stayed intact, and the Hulk let out a low grumble before turning and charging in the general direction of the exit, the stone walls cracking and falling astray on the floor.
The creature ran, tearing through parts of the city and slums until he finally reached a desolate patch of field. Roughly, he threw Tony down onto the dry dirt, watching the man cough and sputter upon the impact.
"What the hell?" Tony coughed, shooting a harsh glare at the monster roaming about before him. "What the hell is this, Banner?
The Hulk's only response was a scrutinizing glare in Tony's direction. When he set his gaze on Tony, the usual brief feeling of comfort was long absent, replaced with a blazing flame of hatred.
"Tin man not same," the Hulk growled. "Tony change. Tony kill."
"Damn straight I'm not the same." Tony huffed exasperatedly and wiped his hands on his pants. "Being naive doesn't suit me like it does you."
The Hulk stumbled a few heavy steps forward, his mind strangely torn between rage for the billionaire before him and reverence for the tiny human within the monster. "Tiny doctor not dumb," he uttered. "Tiny doctor want old Tony."
Tony stood his ground before the monster, his eyes scrunched into slits. While the Hulk had stayed reasonably non-violent before, the way Tony's gaze sliced through him like daggers set him off. He let a barbaric growl rip from his throat and he charged forward at the man, once again wrapping his fingers around the human's structure.
Once Tony was trapped in his grip, he squeezed for a moment, then catapulted the body towards a tree. The Hulk didn't so much as flinch when he heard a sickening crunch from Tony's general direction, and something told him that the noise hadn't come from the tree.
Unlike before, Tony didn't make any movement to regain his composure.
Halfway between satisfied and horrified, the Hulk stood his ground with his eyes on the speck of Tony's motionless body. As he stared at the man, he could feel what was left of Bruce Banner penetrating the tendrils of rage that were wrapped so mercilessly around the Hulk's mind, and slowly, excruciatingly, he felt himself shrinking, every bone and muscle in his body decreasing down to average size with those usual repulsive noises he always dreaded. Finally, the monster was gone and Bruce's disheveled form was in its place, breathing heavily as a result of the change.
"Oh god," he muttered, "oh god, oh shit." Shakily, he pulled himself to his feet and pushed himself to walk in Tony's direction, managing to salvage some fabric from what was left of his pants.
Tentatively, he knelt down next to Tony, placing his hand on the man's chest. "God, damn... god damn it!" Bruce clenched his in the sparse grass, fighting the rising rage and horror in his gut. What had he done?
"Banner?" It didn't come as a surprise when Bruce heard Clint's voice behind him. The archer cautiously walked forward, stooping to kneel beside the doctor.
Bruce's face was set into a grimace. He'd known that at least one of the others would come after him, but at this point, he couldn't bring himself to even try to regain his composure.
"I just - the Other Guy," Bruce stammered in response. "The Other Guy threw him against a tree and... hurt him. I hurt him." Desperately, he laid his hand over the arc reactor and spread his fingers, letting the light filter through the openings. It was still a ghastly shade of white, but it then began to flicker, as if the battery life beneath it were slowly running dry.
"He's not dead." Clint spoke reassuringly. "You didn't kill him, Bruce. You didn't. He'll be alright." Finally, the flickering came to an end, and the only vestige of light left was a soft gleam of white, barely enough to break through Bruce's trembling fingers.
"Why do I let these things happen?" Bruce muttered under his breath, the tips of his fingers curling around the slightly raised casing of the arc reactor. "If I had just gotten my ass out of that bed and been in the kitchen, then... this wouldn't have - he wouldn't have been taken and I wouldn't have done this and just... idiot. Fucking idiot."
He huffed exasperatedly and sat back on his heels, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.
Then he felt a cool, rough hand on his shoulder, and recognized the texture as Clint's. "Look, we're gonna get you both back to New York and we're going to fix this. Tasha and Steve are taking care of Loki, so he's not a worry. Tony's our priority, and we'll fix him. You know how we deal with priorities around here, Banner." It was a strange scenario for the archer, seeing the man who ironically always seemed like the force of calm ripping at the seams. "None of this is your fault, Bruce."
Clenching his jaw, Bruce tiredly pulled himself to his feet. "Yeah," he rasped, "I'll let you believe that." Despite his state of fatigue he was left in after the change, he reached down and managed to hoist the unconscious Tony into his arms, his jaded muscles straining under the effort.
"Would you like me to...?" Clint gestured towards Tony's limp body, noticing Bruce's apparent struggle.
"No." Bruce's reply was almost a snap. "I got him." His fingers tightened around Tony's body, as if he were afraid that the man would disappear if he were to let go. Clint nodded silently, turning around towards their destination, or at least where they hoped the others had stayed.
As they traveled, Clint couldn't help but keep a watchful eye on the scientist, noting his body language and the way he seemed to have a grip on Tony that suggested nothing less of a desperate, gruesome reunion that they both seemed to wish for, however melancholy it may be. After Bruce's mannerisms during the time post-Stark-kidnapping, this scene was nearly inevitable, and Clint realized that, yes, there was something there. Something that was sacred between only the two of them, and he realized that maybe Tony and Bruce hadn't told the others for one reason - they didn't need to know. That special something wasn't a public affair, it was something for only the two of them, and something that had probably both initiated and hopefully saved this situation.
Clint smiled to himself, the simple gesture feeling somewhat foreign and rather out of place. Bruce hadn't spoken a word and Tony hadn't stirred even once throughout the trip, and Clint spotted Steve's stocky structure in the distance on the outskirts of the city.
"What's going on?" Steve asked, his eyes flickering between the three before him. "Is Stark...?"
"He's okay," Clint replied, sensing Steve's apprehensions. "Or at least he's going to be, somehow. What's the status on Loki?"
"Agent Romanoff is keeping guard on him. We're keeping him under maximum surveillance until Thor can travel down here to take care of him." Steve paused for a moment, turning his attention to Bruce's disheveled form. "Doctor Banner?"
Bruce cleared his throat, adjusting the way his arms anxiously clutched at Tony's body. "I'm fine," he said lowly. "I only hurt one person." His extensive skill in feigned resignation allowed him to mask most of the shame behind his eyes as he glanced down at the man resting tenderly in his arms.
Moments passed with no words exchanged, and finally Steve gave an understanding nod. "Let's head back, then. It'll be easier to focus on what we need to back home." Each of them silently agreed, gratefully allowing the flood of long-absent relief.
# #
Much of the trip back was spent in silence. They'd managed to load everybody into the plane, albeit not very comfortably, and it was only a matter of time that none of them bothered to count before they'd backtracked and reached the familiar surroundings of New York.
When they'd arrived, after notifying Fury of the results of the mission, Clint and Steve had agreed to store Loki elsewhere in order to devise a plan as to what to do with him. Meanwhile, Natasha had made the decision to stay back with Bruce, who'd wordlessly exited the plane and made a beeline for the closest thing to a hospital area, and Tony, who's lifeline was still in critical condition.
Now, Natasha was stationed noiselessly outside of the room Bruce had laid Tony in, her arms folded tensely over her chest. She could hear the clanks of metal instruments from within as Bruce worked, and if she leaned in close enough, his soft, frustrated murmurs of distress. Clenching her jaw, she finally pushed through the door, letting it fall shut softly behind her as she advanced into the room.
Not to her surprise, Bruce hadn't made any motion to indicate that he'd noticed her entrance. He simply stayed hunched over Tony's unconscious form, holding some sort of tool in a shaky hand with his eyes fixed directly on the still-flickering arc reactor. His brows were tightly knitted and Natasha could tell he was even more so fatigued than he had been on the plane.
"Bruce." Natasha paused when he didn't respond, her lips screwing to the side. "Bruce, stop this. Look at me."
Exhaling through his nose, Bruce shook his head and laid a hand on Tony's chest, his unwavering gaze focused on Tony's soft expression. "I don't know what Loki did to him," he finally said, struggling to keep his voice steady in spite of his obvious exhaustion. "Just - the vibranium that he had powering the reactor, it's - it's gone. Not a single trace. All that's left is that white light, and I can't seem to trace the power source for that either. It, just - none of this makes sense. None of it."
Taking another step forward, Natasha fixed her own rigid gaze on Bruce's taut face. "Because you're not thinking straight. You need to take care of yourself first."
"That's not important right now," Bruce murmured through clenched teeth, his fingers curling over the arc reactor. "I need to figure this out. Maybe the..." His sentence tapered and he turned away, tracing the trail of one of the many wires scattered over the area.
"Yes, it is important," Natasha insisted. "None of this is going to get any better until you -"
"I'm not a priority right now, Natasha!" Bruce finally snapped to look at her, a flame of rage burning behind his eyes. "My priority is fixing what I did to get him here, but the problem is that I don't know how! I can't even fix what's my own fault!"
Natasha tensed, her hand discreetly sliding towards the gun in her belt. Measures were always taken in order to avoid Bruce's inner rage paying a visit, but if there was ever a time that those measures were drastically called for, it was this one - as if the whole scene wasn't disastrous enough to begin with, Natasha couldn't and didn't care to imagine what it would look like if Bruce let this get to him.
Before she could open her mouth to say a word, Bruce had sunken into the nearest chair, his fingers knotted through his tousled hair. Natasha approached tentatively, lowering herself to be eye-level with the man. "We're going to get out of this, Banner," she began faintly, "we're going to fix this. We're going to clean up this mess."
Bruce clenched her fist, pulling at the hair still bunched in his hand. Briefly, he shot a glance at Tony before casting his eyes down again, shaking his head hopelessly. "I don't know if I can."
"Not yet." Natasha sat back on her heels, her hand still hovering over the gun just in case. "You're probably overestimating it, Banner, and doing things you're not meant to."
At that, Bruce lifted his head to meet her gaze, his jaw tight. "Doing things I'm not meant to?" he repeated, his eyes narrowed. "What is that supposed to mean?"
Sensing the imminent uproar, Natasha leaned forward again, aloof and on guard. "You know exactly what I mean, Bruce, it's just a fragile situation -"
Swallowing thickly, Bruce quickly pulled himself to his feet. "If apparently I'm doing the wrong things to try and help him," he snapped, "then maybe I'm not supposed to." He gripped Tony's fingers in his own for the slightest of moments, but then his grasp faltered, and he found himself turning and walking from what he'd thought was worth the strife.
