Hooray, back from holidays! Hope you all had a wonderful and relaxing holiday season. And now, some delicious Bruce angst, and masses of Tony POV. Bwaaaa.
Chapter Seven
Tony
"And Stark?"
Tony looked up from where he had been rubbing at his mouth.
"Do you think we should let Banner know about this?" On the vidscreen, Fury folded his arms. Obviously uncomfortable with asking Tony for advice. But hell, no-one knew Bruce like Tony did, not anymore. Only one other person could claim that, and she was long gone, disappeared from Bruce's life... just like everyone else.
Tony was many things, but he was determined that he was never going to be That Guy.
"Yes," Tony said harshly, his breath gusting. "Yes, yes, a thousand times yes. Fuck, you think we should try and keep it from him? He's had enough of secrets, Director Eyepatch."
Fury huffed, and then he shrugged. "Had to be asked. This is a delicate operation. This individual is dangerous. We'll be calling in Hawkeye and the Widow."
"Thought you probably would." They were the best, after all.
"And we're going to need your tech on this, too."
"You're finally formally inviting me to superhero prom? Is this a hand-written invitation, Fury? Does it have little hearts drawn all over it?"
"You tell me. Stark, I would personally write you a fucking sonnet in iambic pentameter if it meant getting this motherfucker back in custody. He's a major threat to every nation on this dirtball, and worse, he is dangerously obsessed with Doctor Banner."
"I've heard the story."
"No, I don't think you have," Fury said darkly. "The whole time he was convalescing, he said nothing but two words. Two words."
"I'm probably going to regret asking this, but out of morbid curiosity, those two words were...?"
"Banner." Fury paused. "And... godlike."
"Shit."
"Shit indeed."
Tony told JARVIS to hold his calls, and poured himself two fingers of whiskey.
Damn it.
It had only been through some well-timed and well-chosen taunting that Hawkeye had agreed to accompany them back down to the testing cell without his bow. Tony had to imply a sexual relationship between archer and weapon before Clint would even consider it. Well, strictly speaking, that was usually the first place Tony's taunting went anyway, but still. The guy was unnaturally attached to that bow.
Tony steadfastly ignored any and all attempts at comparisons between that and his own (obsessive love) scientific diligence when it came to the Suit.
Hulk was eager to see them. His hair was fluffier and lighter when it was clean, and he smelled whole worlds better than he had. He huffed in greeting when the ever-growing group walked into the adamantium cell, grunted at Clint, and then locked eyes with Tony. He was obviously remembering the conversation they had shared the previous night.
Bruce made a beeline for the corner and awkwardly sat on Hulk's rubble-and-blanket bed. He was evidently preparing to sit there the whole time. Tony raised an eyebrow at Hulk, and then jerked his head to where the physicist was sitting and scratching underneath his cast.
Hulk made a low, rumbling noise – terrifying if you couldn't hear the note of exasperated agreement - and then rolled his eyes. The words "I GET IT, NOW SHUT UP METAL MAN" were practically floating in neon above his head.
Tony grinned. Hulk was the best.
The rumble unnerved the heck out of Katniss, though. He took a step back, his sharp gaze mapping the stance of the great green body with professional caution. When no attack was forthcoming, his brows knitted in puzzlement. "Huh."
"Got another experiment idea for you, buddy," Tony said breezily, and shot an amused look at the still-wary Hawkeye. "We brought Shooty Bird, just like you asked."
"Shooty Bird," Hulk said in that mega-bass growl, and tilted his head at Clint, eyes narrowing. "Not Shooty Bird. It was Hulk. Not Shooty Bird."
"Uh, what?" Clint looked a bit flummoxed, though Tony had an inkling of what their big green crankypants was talking about. It wasn't too nice – and damn if it wasn't exactly the sort of thing Bruce would hate to have splashed about in front of the rest of the team.
Welp. Suck it up, Banner.
"That's right," he said, brazening through the moment (well, if it works...), and Bruce's glance was sharp and suspicious. "But remember? Everyone was sorry, and it was all okay. Bruce forgave you."
Bruce's adam's apple bobbed visibly, but he maintained the calm facade. Of course. God, Tony hated the calm facade. "That's right," he said in a voice that was only slightly hoarse. "It's all right, Hulk. You were sorry for hurting me, and I was sorry for hurting you."
"Maybe... Rule Three?" Steve suggested delicately.
Hulk frowned like a thunderstorm. "Rule Tree?"
"TH-ree," Bruce said, and nodded to the counting experiment. "One, two, three."
Hulk blinked, and then studied his row of smashed objects carefully for a moment. "One, two, two-one... tree?" he said, and looked up. Bruce gave him a soft, crinkled smile.
"Close enough. Rule Tree it is."
"What is?" Clint asked, looking around at everyone with a completely bemused expression on his face. "Rules? Hulk gets rules now?"
"Rule One," Hulk said, giving Clint a rather contemptuous and superior look. "No scare, no smash. Rule Two, mistakes okay. Now Rule Tree."
Clint blinked. "Which will be...?"
"Once we say sorry, it's in the past?" Steve offered.
"Sorry is usually just the start," Bruce muttered. Tony shot him an exasperated look. Walking sad factory, the man was a fucking walking sad factory.
"Sorry, forgive, all over," Tony suggested.
Hulk made a low rumble of agreement. "Rule Tree. Sorry, all over."
"That's... I didn't know he could do this," Clint said in awe. "Why the hell didn't we know this about him? He's been catching us and fighting with us for two freaking years; how did we NOT know that he could reason?"
"Because we never bothered to find out," Tony said, hating that he'd never acted on his suspicions, and as usual when he was irritated with himself, his mouth decided to take independent action. "Because somebody was so convinced that talking to Jolly Green was a bad move and that he was just too dangerous to approach outside a smashy situation and that it was a total waste of time to try and that he was a ticking bomb with..."
"Shut up, Tony," Bruce grated, and his eyes flashed. "Now."
"So, the experiment for today?" Steve said with rather enforced jollity into the ensuing – and uncomfortable - silence.
"Experiment," Hulk echoed, and a crafty look briefly passed over his face so fleetingly that Tony couldn't have sworn it was there at all. "Star Man, Metal Man, Banner, Shooty Bird." And he nodded at Clint. "Shooty Bird here."
"Hey there, Jade Jaws," Clint said in a steady voice – not warm, not cool. Neutral. "Good to see you."
"Shooty Bird always up too high." Hulk made his snarling approximation of a smile, and the archer started a little, before his eyes widened.
"That's a smile, and he's not about to smash?" he spluttered. "He can smile?"
"And laugh," Steve added.
"And hear you," Bruce said irritably.
"Right, right. Um, yeah. Up high is where I like it, big fella. I see better from a distance."
Hulk knuckled forward in that unnervingly fast manner of his, and sniffed at Clint absently, before rocking back on his haunches. He tilted his great head. "Who catch Shooty Bird now?"
"Wait, what is this, what the hell?" Clint looked back at Steve and Tony with confusion. Tony covered his mouth to hide his grin. Confused was a good look on Clint.
"I caught him, Hulkster," he said. "Sorry you couldn't see it. I know it's usually your job, but I did you a solid and covered for you. It's just until you get out of here."
Hulk blinked slowly as he parsed that, and then nodded. "Four."
"Very good," said Bruce softly. "That's right. Four days left."
Hulk drew himself up, and gave Clint a hard look – and when the Hulk drew himself up and gave hard looks, there was a lot more up to draw and hardness to the lookthan there would be for anyone else. "Shooty Bird careful," he growled. "No Hulk to catch you. Four days no Hulk."
Clint gaped.
"Say you'll be careful," Tony hissed. "You'll make him worried."
"He fucking what, the what?"
"Yes, he worries too," Tony snapped. "Tell him."
"It's fine," Steve said in his most reassuring voice – and damn could Captain Nostalgia nail a reassuring voice. "I'm looking out for them."
Hulk's mouth tightened. "Good. Good. Good."
Clint looked somewhere between amazed and annoyed. "Uh. Shit, Jade Jaws, you know I can take care of myself. But fine, fine!" he blurted when Hulk's head swung back to him, a ferocious frown on that face. "I'll be careful, and no jumping off stuff. Promise."
"That'll be the day," Tony murmured. Clint shot him a glare.
Hulk straightened, and then hunched down into his favourite waiting pose – on his haunches, with one mammoth hand knuckled against the ground. He looked much more satisfied with Clint's answer now that he had scared a promise out of him.
"Experiment?" he said, and darted a look over at where Bruce sat neatly. Then that fast-as-lightning, blink-and-you'll-miss-it craftiness passed over his face again. "Hulk's experiment," he said with vast satisfaction, and thumped one fist against his chest proudly.
"Your experiment," Bruce confirmed, and Hulk's vast shoulders lifted a little out of their habitual stoop.
"I think you'll like it," Tony said, and grinned when Hulk gorilla-hopped towards him, curiosity firing in those green eyes. Damn if he didn't look like Banner right at that moment – that look of excitement was just the same. "Wanna go get the gear, Shooty Bird?"
"Watch your back, 'Metal Man'," Clint hissed, before slipping out of the door.
"I'll give him a hand," Steve said, watching him go. Then he gave Tony a stern look. "Quit it, Stark. We're meant to be setting a good example here."
Bruce made an indecipherable noise that was quickly choked off.
Tony's grin felt like it was threatening to take his head off. "Yes, O Captain, My Captain."
Steve sighed loudly and stalked after Clint, muttering to himself.
They returned after only a few moments, hauling a ton of cans and a huge roll of butcher's paper. "We're probably going to need to give him another shower after this, you know," Steve said as he placed his armful down.
"He'll be an expert, then," Tony said dismissively. "C'mon, experiment time. I wanna see what he'll come up with."
"You want to give me a hand here, Stark?" Clint's voice came acidly from behind a stack of cans.
"Not particularly."
"You know, I've mapped your entire ventilation system. You won't know I'm there until it's too late."
"Really? The entire thing? I hope you enjoy the booby traps."
"Booby traps? What boo- you bastard."
"Stop it, the pair of you," Bruce said, and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "Please. I'm not too proud to beg."
Tony perked up. "Promise?"
"Stark, give it a rest," Steve said repressively, because he was a spoilsport who hated fun. There was a glimmer of suspicion in their Glorious Leader's eyes, however, that Tony didn't want to look too closely at for fear he'd have to admit a few things to himself.
"Fine," he waved them all away – Steve and thoughts alike. "Killjoy."
"So what's the idea here?" Clint scratched at his head as Steve spread out the huge sheets of butcher's paper and put his hands on his hips, nodding in satisfaction.
"Got the idea from some behavioural development markers for young kids," Bruce explained. "And with Steve here... well. He's an artist, right? And it seemed to be the sort of thing you're supposed to do with children, I guess. I've never really spent all that much time with them outside of a medical capacity."
"Fingerpainting," Steve clarified when Clint continued to look confused.
"Oh." Clint's face went carefully blank again, and Tony was once more reminded that Bruce's wasn't the only nightmarish childhood in the room. "And you need me why?"
"Hulk wanted you here," Tony shrugged. Clint looked up at their green teammate, who was trying (and failing) to look innocent. He had certain disadvantages in that area.
"What are you up to, hmm?" Tony mused.
Hulk gave a truly thunderous scowl. "Not up. No up here. Hulk is down. Hulk underground."
"Uh." Well, he wasn't wrong there. But... "No, it's a figure of... nevermind. So Bob Ross, wanna show us how it's done?"
Steve very obviously stifled another sigh. Tony rather enjoyed getting them out of Steve. It was like having an extremely patriotic annoyance-barometer. "Well, I'll start us off, but there aren't any rules to fingerpainting, Tony. Hulk? Want to watch me?"
Hulk sent a final snort at Tony, before pointedly turning his back to watch Steve dip the tips of his fingers in the green paint and send them sweeping across the paper. He started in surprise, grunting and jerking, before letting out a short roar of astonishment. "Green! Like Hulk!"
"Yep." Steve sat back and then grabbed a cloth, wiping off his fingers. "Gotta clean your hands," he explained. "Otherwise the colours get mixed up."
Hulk snarled in confusion, muscles bunching. He obviously didn't understand.
"Better hurry up with that demo, Cap," Clint said, shifting into a ready pose on the balls of his feet, eyes wary and locked on the Hulk.
"Stop it," Tony hissed. "He's fine, jeez."
"I'm not the type to take chances, Stark," Clint said, eyes still trained on the Hulk.
"Excuse me, do my dainty ears deceive me? Yes, you are. You are exactly the type to take chances, Shooty Bird," Tony snapped. "Thrown yourself off any buildings recently? Oh wait, yes. And I'm the one that caught you! Christ on a crutch, the fucking Hulk made you promise to be careful!"
Clint shot him a poisonous look, but couldn't really say anything to refute that.
Steve was ignoring their bickering with lofty disdain as he dipped his fingers into the purple paint and swept over the paper again. Slowly the shape took form.
"It's you, see?" Steve said, and wiped off his fingers once more in order to load up with black. A smudge of curly hair, two deep-set eyes and a half-smiling, half-snarling mouth completed the rough portrait. "Do you like it?"
Hulk's face twitched. His expressions flickered and died before they reached maturity as he studied the butcher's paper with the rough sketch on it. "Hulk? Hulk on paper?"
"You can have it, if you like," Steve said.
"But Hulk here!" Hulk roared with sudden vehemence, and Bruce swore under his breath, before standing and moving slowly towards the giant, his good hand held up in a calming gesture.
"Shh, it's fine. Hulk? Hulk? Rule One!"
Hulk took in another breath, before subsiding with his fists tightly clenched. "Hulk is not in paper. Hulk is Hulk. Hulk not in paper."
"It's a picture," Bruce said gently. "A picture. It's not the real thing. I can draw a picture of anything, but it doesn't mean it is the real thing. That stays. This picture is a picture of Hulk that Steve – uh, Star Man drew. But the real Hulk is here. See?"
Hulk gave Bruce a mulish look. "Hulk not in puny paper."
"No," Bruce agreed. "Look, I'll have a go. We'll all have a go. Why don't you draw something?"
"Not real," Hulk said in an almost plaintive tone. "Not Hulk. Why?"
"For fun," Bruce explained.
"And to measure and stimulate creative and intellectual development," Tony muttered under his breath as his sphincter slowly unclenched. Fuck him drunk, but Hulk's moods were rough on a guy with a heart condition.
Hulk hunkered down before a new sheet of paper. "Team all make... pictures?" Hulk said, awkwardly testing out the new word.
"Why the hell not?" Tony said, blowing out the last of his nerves. He sat down, grabbing the red paint immediately. Steve gave him a sour look.
Bruce gingerly lowered himself down, not quite hiding his wince as his shoulder pulled again. He'd done some damage to his healing, Tony thought grimly, and then tried to shake the worry from his mind.
"This is a waste of my time," Clint said flatly. "I could be at the range, instead of here in Hulk kindergarten."
"Clint," Tony began.
Hulk frowned. "Shooty Bird make pictures."
Clint snorted. "Yeah, don't think so. See ya, Jade Jaws. I'm gonna..."
"Hawkeye," came the very quiet, very stern voice of Captain America – a field voice, a battle voice; commanding, confident and utterly incapable of being disobeyed. "Sit down and fingerpaint with your teammates. Now."
Clint gave him a startled look, before his legs folded without apparent conscious direction and he mutely grasped the purple paint to his chest.
"Thank you," Steve said more normally. Hulk gave Clint a victorious, savage smile.
"Shooty Bird paint too," he said with smug satisfaction.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Clint muttered, and dipped his finger into the paint to begin working.
Hulk seemed to really like the black paint, though he was using the green and the red a lot as well. He wasn't the greatest at remembering to wipe off his index finger (he definitely couldn't fit his whole hand into the tin like Steve had) but he did, on occasion, rub the cloth over his hands. It was interesting to note that he was left-handed, just like Bruce. There was a streak of blue paint in the rough curls above his brow, and Steve eyed it with a slightly rueful expression.
"I am not washing his hair again," he muttered.
"Hey, it's my salon, you follow my rules or you're out on your keister, lowly apprentice," Tony said peaceably, and dabbed a bright yellow sun above the picture of himself in the suit riding a dinosaur and playing a guitar. And holding a lance. Surrounded by lightning and robot unicorns, because fuck yeah robot unicorns.
Okay, perhaps the lance was overkill.
"I thought it was my salon?" Bruce said, quirking an eyebrow and reaching for the green.
"I'm the financial backer, what I say goes," Tony said, and swiped yellow down Bruce's nose. He gave Tony a sardonic, long-suffering look. "You're just the brains of the outfit."
"Glad someone is," Clint muttered.
"Blue," Hulk said, and then cleared his throat with a sound like someone bashing two rocks together. "Please."
"Uh, sure..." Clint carefully placed the blue tin onto the Hulk's broad palm, and then watched bemusedly as he dipped a red-smeared finger into it and spattered the blue all over the paper.
"Very nice manners," Bruce praised him.
"Um. Yeah," Clint echoed. "Very nice."
Hulk didn't answer, but his back straightened ever so slightly.
Steve's nose was almost touching his piece of paper, and his tongue was wedged between his teeth in total concentration.
"Man, I am crap at this," Clint said, sitting back and wiping off his hand. "Seriously, I think I'll stick to shooting stuff. Art is not for me."
Tony peered over at the riotous, colourful mess on Hawkeye's page. His usual instinct would have been to tease the hell out of Clint for such a pisspoor painting, but some hitherto unknown sense of tact (Pepper would be fucking amazed, and so would Rhodey, for that matter) informed him that this wasn't the best move. Instead he put his hand on Clint's muscled shoulder, solid as concrete from years of drawing that bow. "What is it?"
Clint's sideways glance was a little surprised. "Uh, it's a circus. See, there's the audience, and that's the clowns, and that's the. The trapeze."
"Nice. I like the elephant."
"That's the clown car."
"Whatever, I like it."
"Well, I like yours. Cool lightsaber."
"Lance."
"Whatever."
"Are you finished?" Bruce asked Hulk, yellow still dabbed on his nose. Tony smirked to himself.
Hulk sat back and grunted. "Team."
"Seriously?" Tony practically lunged over the Hulk's brawny green arm to peer down at the paper. What greeted him looked exactly like every child's drawing he'd ever seen – totally incomprehensible. "Where's me?"
Hulk pointed at a blob of red that had been copiously mixed with green and blue. "Metal Man."
"That. Is fantastic. Seriously. I may expire," Tony announced, and grinned at the blob a bit giddily. "I've been immortalised by the Hulk."
"I think we need to get a bucket for him to wash his fingers in," Clint said dryly. "He's mixed everything together. We've got six tins of brown coming up."
"System failure," Tony agreed.
"That must be me," Steve said, smiling and pointing at a smear of blue that had interacted with the black beside it to form a blackish-blue mess.
Hulk beamed. "Yes! Star Man!"
"Me?" Clint asked, and Hulk pointed to the top of the painting at a purple and yellow... thing. Tony sniggered.
"You're up high again, Robin of Loxley."
"Which means that that's Hulk there," Steve smiled and indicated a green handprint below the 'Clint'... thing. "He's ready to catch you."
Hulk gave them his savage smile. "Hulk."
"That's Natasha, then," Clint said, tilting his head and nodding to the black that had smeared into the blue of Captain America. "And I'll bet that's Thor. Jeez. Poor Thor. No-one tell him."
The blobby mess in question had been smashed a few times. Enthusiastically.
"It's great," Bruce said, and smiled up at his alter ego. "It's really great. You could be really good at this."
"Good?" Hulk seemed to be very insistent about that word. "Hulk good?"
Bruce's smile turned sad again, and Tony bit down on a hundred swear words. "Yes," he said. "Hulk is good."
Hulk threw out his chest and gave a short roar of triumph. "Hulk good!"
"Where's Bruce?" Tony asked, and looked up at Hulk. The triumph dimmed a little, and the green eyes slid away.
"I'm on there, Tony," Bruce said quietly. "Look at Hulk's handprint."
It was surrounded by blobby swirls of black and brown.
"Oh." He sat back. "You're all around him."
"That's what I'm for, what we do," Bruce said wryly, and looked up at his alter ego. "Right?"
Hulk nodded. "Banner." Bruce huffed a quiet laugh, and then held up his own sheet of butcher's paper.
"Great minds," he said rather obliquely. "Or, well. Great mind, anyway."
Bruce's painting was somewhat more coherent, with the attention to detail in places that marked someone of a rather meticulous bent. The team was clearly recognisable, with Clint up in the air and Thor flying with his hammer off to one side, just as in Hulk's drawing. But most telling was that instead of a depiction of Hulk and of Bruce as separate people, he'd drawn himself; a middle-height man with curly hair in swirls of black with a brown shirt. Encapsulating him was the larger form of Hulk, like a pair of Russian nesting dolls.
Tony shook his head once or twice, so far beyond being surprised at this point that he was kind of numb with it all, before meeting Bruce's eyes.
Bruce looked back at him, steadfast, inflexible and with a side-order of self-hatred. Fuck.
"I think we should put these on the fridge," Clint said, peering over at Steve's. "Except Cap's, we sell Cap's."
"It's not finished," Steve mumbled, and reached for a tin, but Tony pulled it out of reach, not breaking eye contact with Bruce. There was too much to talk about. He couldn't slither away this time, and Tony was going to make sure of it.
"Come on, you starving artist you. Finish the masterwork upstairs. If you're not gonna wash Hulk's hair then take a hike."
Steve's eyes darted up, and he grabbed his work protectively. "All that water, it'll..." he said, and then seemed to pull himself out of whatever painting haze had captured him. "You sure?"
"Scoot," Tony said, jerking his head, and then nudged Clint. "You too, Tweety Bird."
"Shooty Bird," Clint said, looking injured.
"Beat it, and take the paint with you," Tony said, and carefully handed his own painting to Steve (he was thinking of calling it IRON GLORY).
"Red-Black," Hulk said abruptly. "Next experiment. Red-Black."
"Does he mean the paint?" Clint wondered, but Bruce had stiffened.
"He means Natasha," he said in a tense voice.
Clint's jaw dropped open, before he remembered himself. "I'll tell her," he said diplomatically, before grabbing tins upon tins. "See you next time, Jade Jaws, yeah?"
"Shooty Bird," Hulk said, and gave a strange rumble that Tony was beginning to realise meant affection. "Next time. Next experiment."
"What, all of us?" Clint's eyebrows flew upwards. "Seriously?"
"Except Thor," Bruce said in a tone that brooked no opposition. "Seriously, no Thor, not yet."
Clint threw an amused look at Hulk's painting. "Poor guy." Then he hefted the tins and made his way out of the door.
"Not getting away this time, Brucey-babes," Tony said in a low voice, before he noticed the man still working feverishly at his feet. "Oh, for fuck's sake, Cap – it's a finger painting, not the Sistine Chapel!"
"Sorry, sorry," Steve said, still scribbling with the excess paint on his fingertips.
"Out, soldier!"
"Going, Sir!" Steve grabbed his work and marched towards the door, before pausing. "Hang on, you don't get to order m-"
"OUT."
Steve gave him a suspiciously knowing look and one last sigh before exiting the adamantium cell.
The minute Steve had walked his star-spangled ass out of the door, Tony grabbed Hulk's giant finger. "Come on now," he said. "Quick, before they come back." And he tugged a couple of times.
"Tony!" Bruce stood in shock, his face draining. "Tony, stop it!"
"I'm fine, he's fine," Tony puffed. Damn, the Hulk was the proverbial fucking immovable object. He felt like a toddler hauling on Dad's hand – and not a good thought, steer away from that thought. He chanced a look up at his face only to be greeted by some serious uncertainty in those eyes. Hulk's mouth was a flat line, and his jaw was jutting ominously. "Come on, Green Bean. We talked about this!"
Hulk grunted, and then lifted his arm. Tony was caught by surprise, and the finger he had been holding slipped out of his hands and he stumbled a little. "Jeez, warn a guy..." he grumbled.
With a snort that was half a laugh, Hulk prodded Tony's shoulder. "Tony pushy."
"Damn right," Bruce muttered.
"Bitch Banner."
"Tony Snark."
"Oh, like I haven't heard that one before. Hulk, you're killing me here. We got the blond brigade out of the room, go kiss and make up already, yeah?"
"You'd know it if he was killing you," Bruce said darkly, and Tony felt a hot rush of anger trickle down his spine.
"Okay, fuck you. He'd never hurt me; Hulk's my friend. I believe in him – in you – in all of you. And I am fucking sick of being the only one, so for fuck's sake put on your big boy trousers, Banner, and start trusting yourself for once."
There was a silence in which the only movement was Hulk shifting to look at first one man, then the other. Those green eyes were filled with rising alarm and anger at the tension in the room – and they probably only had a few seconds left before he began to smash shit out of sheer confusion and unhappiness. But Tony didn't care, right at that moment. Tony wasn't going to let Bruce talk about Hulk – about himself – that way, not anymore. His blood was up and he waited, daring Bruce to say his usual goddamned negative, self-hating shit. The stupid, brilliant, guilty, fascinating, fucked-up asshole.
Bruce's mouth snapped shut. Then his eyes dropped as a small smile crossed his lips. "You've been waiting to say that, haven't you?"
"It was fucking glorious," Tony confessed.
"Feel better?"
"Yeah. Wait, nope, I have a lot more stored up."
"I can imagine."
"No, no you really can't. But it can wait, because Hulk has dibs." Tony looked back up at Hulk, whose shoulders were relaxing slightly as the expected fight failed to materialise. "Go on, big guy. Show him."
Hulk made a confused sound, but didn't start smashing. Gods bless Rule One. "Banner," he rumbled.
Bruce's eyes immediately clouded over with that now-familiar terrible sadness and guilt, and Tony wanted to claw them out. Damn him. "Yes, Hulk?"
Hulk's hand reached forward slowly, slowly. Bruce's mouth went slack with shock as it brushed against his hair, before it nudged a finger against Bruce's unbruised cheek. "Touch," Hulk said. Then he made an unhappy little noise in the back of his throat. "Hulk sorry. Touch. Rule Tree?"
With a hand that visibly shook, Bruce tentatively wrapped his fingers around the mammoth wrist. "But..." he said, looking a little lost.
"We had a chat," Tony said, feeling smug. He was hot shit. He was three for three when it came to being right about Hulk. Yeah. It was soooooo good. In your face, Richards, Tony 'Hulk-Whisperer' Stark was so smart he could analyse and give emotional counsel to a force of fucking nature. "It was about you, and about guilt, and about letting you two connect."
"Ah," Bruce said faintly.
"Banner," Hulk said again, and his mammoth head lowered. "Rule Tree? Hulk good?"
"Yes," Bruce said, still faint, still lost and shocky. "Yes, that's good. Very good."
"Good." Hulk's hand pushed a little at Bruce's face – and Tony recognised in that touch the control they'd worked on, the level of dexterity Hulk had reached while practising with red and yellow balloons. Bruce's face turned this way and then that as Hulk nudged his chin from side to side, studying him with a sort of absent, pleased fascination. "Banner good?"
Bruce's expression twisted a little.
"He is," Tony interrupted before Bruce could drag the whole conversation down into the dumps. God, the man was a walking gloom factory sometimes. "You know he is. Banner's a freaking saint. You remember. What does he do when you run?"
Hulk's hand moved to cradle Bruce's whole skull. Puzzled green eyes cleared as the memories trickled into place. It was incredible to watch Hulk grow more accustomed to drawing on them, to place them into context and fit the pieces of their life together. "Fix." He looked down at Bruce, who was trembling a little. His whole head fit into Hulk's palm, cupped there in a strangely protective gesture. "Banner fix. Hot places. Small ones. Twenty-milligrubs-first-day-ten-milligrubs-after-days."
"Milligrams," Bruce whispered, and then his eyes slammed shut. "Quinine. Twenty milligrams per kilo on the first day, ten milligrams per kilo every day afterwards. Standard anti-malarial procedure. He remembers the dosage. The dosage. Oh my god."
"Bruciekins?" Tony said, suddenly worried. "Too much?"
"Damn it, Tony," Bruce said hoarsely.
"Banner," Hulk rumbled, and one giant thumb pushed absently at the curls on Bruce's head. He paused, and then said, "Bruce."
Bruce's whole face crumpled.
"Shit," Tony swore. Well, he hadn't meant to make the guy finally snap. So much for feeling smug – he'd wanted to bring the two of them together, not turn Bruce's repressed mess into a deluge.
"Bruce," the Hulk said again, and a muffled noise emerged from the man's chest, like a tiny animal calling from the depths of a dark well.
"Hey," Tony said, and stepped forward – to do what, he had no idea. Comfort the guy? Maybe. They still needed to talk about this shit, but if he needed...
"No, no don't," Bruce gasped, and he seemed to draw in on himself. Tony halted, uncertain. This was. No, this didn't happen. Bruce never broke down. Bruce was the epitome of control.
He was a dam made of rage and self-hatred – and it was finally, finally crumbling.
"Bruce," Hulk said yet again, and cradled Bruce's head with the gentleness he'd shown in cradling the balloons. Paint smeared over his hair. "Not alone. Good now. Good."
Bruce sucked in a huge, shuddering breath, before his face twisted in a truly shocking grimace. His teeth were gritted against whatever it was he was feeling, his lips skinned back and bloodless and his eyes screwed so very shut that the lines around them had become deep ravines.
Tony hovered, useless.
"I can't," Bruce managed through those fiercely clenched teeth. "No, I can't..."
"Can't what?" Tony said as softly as he could when Bruce stopped. His head pulled away from Hulk's careful touch and his breath came frighteningly fast as he pressed his chin against his chest, hiding his face.
"He's me, Tony," Bruce whispered.
"Yeah."
"He's me."
"I know."
"But... if he's me, then I killed all those people. I killed them. Me. I killed them, and I wanted to, because I was stronger than them and I could. I killed them. And I locked him away – I locked me away, a little boy, he's just a sad angry little boy, oh god, oh god. I'm a monster, he was right, he was right." Bruce's voice was becoming higher and faster, though it was curiously devoid of inflection. Tony belatedly recognised the signs of a total meltdown.
"Shit," he said, and stepped forward again to rest a hand against Bruce's shoulder, give him something real to anchor to. The shoulder was shivering spasmodically under his hands. "Bruce, breathe. Breathe."
"Banner," Hulk said, concern beginning to creep into his voice. "Banner hurt."
"No!" Bruce threw his chin up to meet Hulk's worried eyes. Tony was gobsmacked to see actual tears standing in Bruce's. "No, I'm the one who hurts! Oh god, oh my god..." he broke off and rubbed at his mouth, pushing Tony's hand away.
This was insane, this was wrong. Banner didn't do this. He was stoic to a fucking fault. He never, ever let you see how much he hurt. He moved on with single-minded determination and ruthless control. This wasn't the plan. This wasn't how it was meant to go.
"I thought it was right, you know?" Bruce's laugh was possibly the most painful thing Tony had ever, ever heard. "If he wasn't me. He was a mistake, and everything was his fault, and I was right, so right, to do what I was doing. If there was any evidence to suggest otherwise, well, it was circumstantial, wasn't it?" Bruce gazed up at Hulk, his face blotchy and still twisted with hatred and guilt and sorrow and love and emotions that Tony couldn't even name, eyes glimmering through tears that were stubbornly forced not to fall. "The fucking arrogance of me," he spat at himself. "You're right, Tony – I manipulate data to suit my own ends. Not even a fucking scientist anymore; a worldwide laughing stock, a joke who ignores the evidence of his own eyes. Just a monster. Look at me! At us! We're not even whole people!"
Hulk made a crooning noise, like whalesong, and reached out to Bruce but his huge hand was batted away. "No, don't... don't touch me," he gasped and wrapped his good arm around himself so tightly that Tony could practically hear those broken ribs grating against each other.
"Bruce," he said wretchedly. "Bruce, please."
"I hate how right you are," Bruce hissed. "I hate that you were right about everything. I hate that I'm... this. I turned us into this! Well, dear old dad always did say I was a freak! Isn't it fucking lovely? Everyone's right!"
Hulk's sudden growl was terrifying and full of old, old anger.
"You're not..." Tony stopped and tried to think, but in the face of Hurricane Bruce's Emotional Breakdown it was sort of impossible to get past the internal chant of oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck. "Bruce, you're not a freak. Not a monster. You're a genius. You're smarter than me for god's sake, you think up shit I can't begin to – that Bannertech energy shield, have I told you how much that makes me want to drool? Holy crap, you made a teleporter! You made Star Trek real! And then you go around with your little bag and your spaniel hair and your crappy suits and fix everyone up, the AIDS research, the portable MRI, that water purifier, all the developing nations technology... and you're always haring off to one disaster or the next to volunteer to be up to your elbows in blood and puke and piss! Fuck, Banner, you're a goddamn..."
"Saint?" Bruce muttered, and Tony could hear hysteria creeping into his voice. "Me? You're a riot, Tony Stark. You're a fucking riot, you know that?"
"Bruce good," Hulk snarled, fear beginning to rise in his expression. Bruce's laugh was a touch wild.
"Well, you'd have to say that. You're me! But then, I locked you up for years and years. I was your fucking warden; you were my prisoner! Does that make me a good man? Locking up an abused child who can't count, doesn't understand sleep, has never eaten, doesn't understand freedom or his own agency or anything at all..."
Hulk's lips curled back from his teeth, and Tony's breath caught. "Scared," Hulk said, and lowered his head. "Because scared."
"Yes, you remember that. You remember everything, don't you?" Bruce's hand fisted at his hair. "But I lie, you always know I lie, don't you? Oh, it wasn't just because of what you do that was I scared. It wasn't just because you kill. I was scared of what it meant to be you... because that meant that I was the one who was the killer. And I ran, because puny Banner runs, oh yes, he runs and runs. Runs from everything, including the truth! I couldn't be you, because you were the monster, and only monsters do bad things. Only monsters kill. Only monsters lock children away. I couldn't be you. But would you look at that," and he smiled with hopeless despair. "I am."
"Bruce good," Hulk snarled, and reached out again. "Hulk knows."
"Don't," Bruce whispered, and Tony wished himself away, anywhere, anywhere but here watching a strong man torn to pieces by his demons. "No, no... Just don't. Don't. Please."
"Hulk knows," he said again, and his huge green hand carefully scooped up that clenched and trembling figure. "Hulk was there."
"No," Bruce managed as he was gently brought close to that broad green chest struggling with all his wounded strength, as useless as it might be against the might of Hulk. And for god's sake how had he not shed a single tear?
"Banner is good. Banner is good. Rule Tree. Banner is good, and Hulk is here. Hulk will save Banner, always, always. Banner is good. Shhh," Hulk said quietly and began to hum under his breath – rumbling and gravelly, but still a hum.
Bruce froze and then began to fold away on himself like a broken deckchair – in increments, jerkily and inelegantly. Hulk brought him close and tucked the other's curly head under his chin, and a barely-there muffled sob drifted to Tony's ears. Hulk continued to hum, his great body curving around the other. As Bruce began to shake in earnest, he carefully wrapped his giant hand around Bruce's head again, shielding him. Protecting him. He kept humming. It was a simple tune, a lullaby.
Hulk's eyes met Tony's, and he nodded.
Tony slunk out of the door, mouth dry and eyes prickling. When he made it to the familiar comfort and warmth of his workshop, he sat for almost an hour in total silence beside Butterfingers, staring into the distance and feeling the thrum of the arc reactor under his nerveless fingers.
Natasha found him.
"What happened?" she asked in her low, businesslike way, sitting beside him with her eyes trained on the floor.
"The dam burst," Tony said after a long silence. Natasha digested that.
"Let's hope he didn't drown," she said softly.
"I think... I think Hulk caught him."
The corners of her lips turned up the tiniest amount, and her eyes flickered to his. "Well. Hulk's known for doing that."
"You know about the mission?"
She nodded.
"We have to tell him." Tony smoothed his fingers over the cool glass, his terrible privilege, his Hulk, his one great mistake that led to something more, something greater. The thing that saved him and nearly killed him and irrevocably placed him outside humanity. "He deserves to know."
"I agree."
"He might not be in a state to hear it." Tony looked down at his feet, at hers. "You didn't see him."
"He might be the strongest he's ever been," Natasha turned to face him, and then deliberately put a comforting hand on his forearm. "That's sort of one of the side effects."
"Of?"
"Being taken apart. You can put yourself back together again, stronger than before." She raised an eyebrow. "Why am I telling you this? You know this. You did it yourself. Look. You've believed in him all this time. Don't stop now, not when he needs it the most."
Tony stared at his shoes. "Natasha, I think I meddled enough, don't you? Why the hell would he need me around?"
She looked genuinely surprised. "You haven't figured it out?" A true smile crossed her lips, and she leaned back a bit. "Oh, Stark. Still?"
Standing, she began to walk soundlessly to the door, "Dinner's on the table if you're hungry. However, Thor cooked, so you may wish to consider getting takeout instead. And Stark?"
He looked up.
"Ask yourself why Banner is still in the city after two whole years, let alone after two minutes."
Tony was left with more questions than he started with as she passed through the door like a ghost.
Referenced in this are a couple of Bannertech inventions from the comics - some Greg Pak, some Mark Waid. Bruce are srs inventor (Seriously - he made a taser that fires earthquakes.)
Uh. Nervous about this chapter. Tell me your thoughts! I'd love to share mine!
