Archive of Our Own ^beta

It was around two in the morning. 

Rick was awake, in spite of everything. 

Idly picking at the strings of his electric guitar while sitting on his bed, he stared at the drywall in front of him. A The Traits poster (and only a The Traits poster. It was the only poster he'd shoved in his guitar case when Bruce had told him to leave. He'd originally wanted to purposefully leave it on Bruce's desk, but Rick didn't think he would understand the bitter irony of it) hung proudly in the center of the spare bedroom Jennifer had assigned to him.

The room was small, but not cramped. There was a desk next to the ash brown door leading to the hallway. On it, a math book lied, never opened. Jennifer wanted him to enroll at a nearby high school, now that he wasn't on the run anymore, but he had refused. He knew he was smart enough to handle living on his own, even without a diploma. Bruce wouldn't have approved of it, but he wasn't around, so he had no say in the matter. It wasn't like he was his dad or anything like that, anyway. He wasn't the boss of him.

Above his bed was a small window, looking over Los Angeles. The only people down on the streets were a few partygoers, and a man and a woman walking a small dog, maybe a chihuahua, he couldn't tell from how high up he was. The curtains were a dull red. If you'd look closely, you would notice a small hole at the bottom end of the right curtain. And Rick had looked closely, for there wasn't much else to do in the middle of the night in a room where he had just arrived a mere week ago, except for fiddling with his guitar. The music sheets of songs that he'd composed himself were crumpled into a large ball on the floor, so he was improvising his tunes.

The guitar wasn't plugged in anywhere, not that he'd brought his amplifier with him, so the sounds came out muted. He didn't mind. No one would complain about him this way. He strummed. C minor. D minor. C minor again. It wouldn't work in an actual song, but he didn't care. It wasn't like he was planning on doing anything with it. He wasn't in any band, at least, not right now, and he wasn't a name big enough to perform on stage by himself.

His phone, Jennifer had gotten it for him, buzzed in his pocket. Two times. Rick sighed, as he flipped it open. Bruce's name flickered on the screen, and he considered shutting the phone off for good at that moment, but then—

'I'm alive.' The first text read, followed by, 'I know I'm alive.' 

A pause, before the last message came in, and Rick could feel his heart plummet to his stomach.

'I don't know for how much longer.'

Rick's hands trembled as he typed in, 'What do you mean?'

Brief typing, followed by silence on the other end, after which Bruce's previous messages were swiftly deleted. Rick's eyes darted to the door, contemplating whether he should call Jennifer. She would know what to do, she was smart, and strong. Not as strong as the Hulk, but if Bruce was in any danger, she could help, though it could be the case that this message was meant for his eyes only. Why else would he text him rather than his cousin, or his other, far more capable superhero friends? There was Doctor Strange, who could cast literal spells, and Captain America, who was, well, Captain America, and he had that friend of his, Iron Man, Tony, who Bruce seemed particularly fond of.

Why had he messaged him of all people? After kicking him out, no less? No other messages came in, no explanation, no 'sorry Rick, everything's fine now. Didn't mean to worry you'. Nothing. Rick anxiously chewed on his bottom lip. He sent a message.

'Bruce?' 

'I'm so sorry.' 

Raw panic seeped into his brain. Fuck. Bruce was actually about to die, for real this time. And he could do nothing about it. Frozen, he stared at his phone, as if waiting for Bruce to message that it was all a sick joke, as if he was hoping for this to all be fake. A dream, maybe. He pinched himself. He didn't wake up. So he ran. He shot up and ran, hurriedly throwing his guitar on the bed. "Jen!" He yelled, stumbling over the floor. "Jennifer!"

He threw the door open, right as Jennifer's hasty footsteps started to come from her room. She was at his side within seconds, bending down to grab him by the shoulders before he could accidentally bump into her. "Kid, slow down. What's wrong?"

"It's Bruce." Rick pushed his phone into her hands. "He's... He's in trouble."

Jennifer looked at the screen, face paling as she read the last message Bruce sent.

Immediately, she punched in his number and pressed the call button. A familiar voice came out of the phone.

"Hello. This is the voicemail of, um, David Ban... Croft. I'm currently unavailable, but I'll call you back whenever I have the chance."

She tried again.

"Hello. This is the voicemail of, um, David Ban—"

She tried again.

"Hello. This is—"

She tried again.

"He—"

"Shit," she hissed. "Shit!"

Jennifer paced around the room, phone still in hand, and Rick could do nothing but wait. He scratched the back of his hand nervously. The pictures on the wall, clearly drawn by children, seemed far too cheerful in contrast to the situation they were in, and almost looked like they were mocking them. One picture depicted She-Hulk crushing a robot. Above her, the words "SHE-HULK NEVER BACKS DOWN FROM A FITE" were scribbled in green crayon. Another depicted someone who vaguely resembled a shocked Iron Man, watching whilst She-Hulk bench-pressed a car. 

Rick wondered where she had gotten these. Maybe her address was known to the public, or she had a mailbox at the local post office. He'd have to ask her once everything was back to normal, which it would have to go back to. It had to. He didn't know what he would do if Bruce were to die, or get horribly injured. It shouldn't be possible. It shouldn't be something that was allowed to happen to the man who housed the Hulk inside of him.

The phone rang, as Jennifer called someone else. "Stark, come on, pick up..."

One ring. Two rings.

Then.

Click.

"Hrn?" Tony sounded as if he was half-asleep, which was understandable given the time. "Jones? What's goin' on?"

"It's Jennifer. Jennifer Walters. There's something wrong with Bruce." Jennifer paused for a second. "We can't reach him."

On the other end of the phone, Tony got up from wherever he was lying on, probably some sort of luxurious couch that cost more than Rick would ever earn in his entire life. He could practically hear Tony furrow his eyebrows. "Well, you know I'm your guy for that. Any clue on where he is?"

"We were in New Mexico, but that was a week ago," Rick explained to Jennifer, who nodded, before repeating what he said to Tony. 

"Wait, you haven't seen him in a week?" 

Rick took the phone from Jennifer. "Yeah, well, he sorta kicked me out."

"No offense, but I thought you were his kid or something. That's, like, a real dick move of him."

Of course that's what Tony would focus on in a moment like this. And the worst part was that Rick couldn't even blame him for it. Out of context, and, hell, even in context, it sounded as if Bruce had up and left someone who viewed him as a hero, as a father figure, for seemingly no good reason. Bruce had told him it was because the Hulk, and him, by extension, was simply too dangerous, a liability, but something seemed off about him while he spoke. His gaze didn't hold Rick's, and his words were flat and unnatural. 

That unnatural tone that came out of him as if it physically hurt him. And it wasn't as if he just kicked him out to fend for himself, Bruce had given him enough money to travel, and an address. Maybe that was what got Rick to leave him behind, in the end.

"We don't have time for that right now! He could be in some real trouble."

"Yeah, I got it," Tony let out a deep sigh. "I'll track him down."

It was quiet as Jennifer and Rick held their breaths. Tony tapped on something, a button of sorts, and then he walked somewhere, maybe to a computer, or one of those touchtone televisions he had lying around in that giant building of his. Rick wasn't exactly sure how Tony would track Bruce down, given that any type of tracker would be destroyed whenever he'd transform into the Hulk, but then again, he was Tony Stark. It wasn't impossible that he'd somehow found a way to microchip the big beast, although it was unlikely. 

Rick wondered whether he was still in New Mexico or whether he had run away yet again, something both his alter ego and he seemed to be so fond of doing. The Hulk could traverse long distances within seconds; after all, he could be on the other end of the world for all they knew. 

For a little, terrifying while, Tony said nothing. Then:

"I found him."

Hurt. 

Hurt. Everything.

Head. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain.

Green.

Hulk hurt. 

Hulk hurt so much.

Why, why, why, why, why, why, why, why, why, why?

Smash. Have to smash. Have to smash, have to stop hurting.

Puny Banner. Puny Banner and stupid gun.

Hated Hulk. Hated him.

Everything green. Haze. Stupid house. Stupid Banner.

Pain. Hulk didn't want hurt. Why hurt? Why pain?

Smash. House to planks to less than. Nothing.

Banner nothing. Banner knew nothing.

Light.

Noise.

Outside.

Tin Man. Friend. Know what to do.

Says it is okay. Says no hurt. 

Like Banner.

Hulk come closer. 

Hulk—

When Bruce opened his eyes, he quickly noticed that he was in a bed. Someone was sitting on the mattress, head in hands. Rick. He looked disheveled, and his hair, which was usually fashionably combed, now seemed as though he hadn't bothered with keeping it tidy in a while. There was a chair across from Bruce, where Tony sat, arms crossed. "Oh."

He wasn't supposed to have survived that, he had considered all possibilities. He'd gotten two vibranium bullets. He'd made sure he was far away from civilization, he'd rented out a tiny house in the middle of nowhere, he'd invented a drug to prevent triggering the Hulk, he had texted Rick in the middle of the night in his timezone, a time when he shouldn't be up, so that he would find his message in the morning, and understand that he was dead, and move on. He was supposed to understand and move on. Bruce had pushed him out, made sure he was too far away to find him, and had lured the Hulk as far away from Los Angeles as he possibly could. He wasn't supposed to be found until long after he had passed away.

What he hadn't accounted for was this.

"Yeah," Tony gritted out. "Oh."

"Listen, Tony—"

"Bruce?" Rick lowered his hands, and now, Bruce could see just what a mess he was. His eyes were rimmed red, and he looked like he hadn't slept for however long Bruce was asleep. "What did you do?"

This wasn't supposed to happen. 

"Son..." Bruce reached for Rick, who flinched away, betrayal clear on his face, to which Bruce let out a sigh. "It's alright. I'm alive."

Tony scoffed. "Nothing is alright about this."

God. This wasn't supposed to happen. Who could have possibly found him? How was he still alive? Nothing about this made sense to him. He wasn't supposed to be alive. Both the Hulk and he were supposed to be long dead at this point. The house was supposed to have buried them. It would have been perfect. Yet here he was, having been asleep for who knows how long, surrounded by his loved ones, who surely hated him after all he had done. For some stupid reason, they didn't care enough to let him die. Thanks to their selfishness, he was still alive. 

Anger flared through him.

"You don't understand," he spat out. "It would have been for the best."

"For the best?" The other man let out an acrid laugh. "You killing yourself would have been for the best?"

Bruce straightened his back. "I would have taken the Hulk with me."

"The Hulk's a founding Avenger, doc. He's a hero," Rick muttered. "You're a hero."

The room seemed entirely too small. "He's not a hero. Heroes don't kill."

"That's what we're going with? Really?" 

"Tony, please—"

Tony raised his hands in a mock sign of peace. "No, go on, please, enlighten me. Please, tell the guy who used to build weapons about how people who kill deserve to die. Hell, you're not even aware of the people you kill until you read the papers the morning after."

Bruce seethed, eyes flashing with green. "That makes me all the more a liability. You have no right to keep me alive knowing what I'm capable of."

"You don't get to tell me what I have and don't have the right to, Banner," Tony said, attempting to keep himself steady. "I'm the only one who does that."

The Hulk gnawed in the back of Bruce's head, the white walls of the hospital room were washed with jade. He needed to calm down. He needed to breathe. Bruce counted to four in his head, again, and again. On the bed, Rick nervously looked at him, not sure on what to do. Bruce wanted to reach out, hold him and tell him it was okay, but he knew that he couldn't do that, not in the state either of them was in. 

"Bruce, come on," Rick ended up urging. "You can't seriously think that kinda stuff, right?"

The tiles of the room must've been cleaned earlier that day, Bruce idly thought. They seemed so clean and white. So pure. Like the lilies that grew outside. It had been the end of spring when he'd told Rick to leave, and there had been lilies in the specific area where they had settled for a couple weeks or so. It hadn't been a bad place. Not at all. He'd enjoyed his time there, for as much as he could enjoy things these days. Even before the Hulk, he'd struggled with finding enjoyment in things. He pondered on when that was taken away from him. 

Wearily, Tony turned towards Rick. "Kid, I don't think you should be here right now."

"I'm not a kid!" The boy fired back. "Stop calling me that."

"He's right, Rick. This is between him and me." Bruce wasn't sure when he'd started to sound so old. "You can wait in the hallway." 

"How do I know you won't just kill yourself the moment I turn my back?"

"I've survived this before, I don't see why—"

Bruce immediately regretted saying that sentence.  The room seemed to freeze. For a second, no one said anything. 

Then, all hell broke loose. 

"I'm sorry, you what?"  Tony managed to say.

Rick pulled his knees to his chest. Normally, Bruce would've chastised him for having his shoes on the bed, but he couldn't find it in him to care. 

"I," Bruce began, uneasily pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. "I must've misspoken. I apologize."

"Oh no, big guy." Tony dug his nails into the palms of his hands. "You don't get to walk away from this that easily. Come on. Explain to the class. Why didn't you tell anyone?"

The sun shone brightly outside. A perfect day for a walk outside. Birds chirped, Bruce vaguely recognised the song as that of a hummingbird, something that was audible through the slightly opened window at the end of the room. 

"It's not important. Decisions of impulse, really." Bruce waved his hand dismissively.

"And that, what? Makes it okay?"

"If it were to get rid of the Hulk—"

Tony got up from where he was sitting. "Would you just shut up about the Hulk?"

"He's a danger to everyone. I can't just 'shut up' about him, when he's the main contributing factor to this..." Bruce contemplated his words. "To these attempts."

"Doc, why didn't you talk to me?" Rick sounded so small, and Bruce was suddenly reminded of the fact that the boy was only seventeen. "I don't wanna lose you, too."

"Rick..." Bruce's voice broke. The green in his eyes faded back to a dull brown. "You don't mean that."

"Don't tell me what I mean," Rick said bitterly, drawing further away from the scientist. "I know that better than you do."

No one spoke. A pin could be heard, if one were to be dropped. There were plenty of things that were left to be said, but Bruce hadn't the words to say them. A wave of exhaustion went over him, seeping into his bones, as he finally mustered up a sentence. "I know you two have gotten attached to me over the years."

Tony rolled his eyes.

"Which is precisely why I didn't want to tell you," Bruce continued. "Either of you. I don't doubt that you would understand what I am going through. What I did and do doubt, however, is your willingness to let me go through with it, even though it would indubitably be for the best."

It was quiet for a second. "Okay. You're an asshole," Tony eventually said. 

Bruce sighed. "You're being a child."

"And you're not?" 

"I'm not arguing with you on this."

"No, come on, I want to know."

To that, all Bruce did was continue staring at the wall, keeping himself tranquil. 

"What, Hulk got your tongue?"

"Dude, don't push him," Rick said, eyeing the door. 

"This—" Tony motioned at Bruce, at the whole room. "This is where not pushing him got us, alright? And if we're going to continue with not pushing him, he's gonna be dead."

The birds outside started to sing again, or maybe they'd been singing the whole time, maybe Bruce had just phased them out in his mind. Maybe they'd all fall down one day, straight out of the sky, and break their pretty little necks, brown feathers mixing with the red of blood on the ground. They could've had it coming. They could be violent.

Rufous hummingbirds were violent. The most violent out of all hummingbirds, if Bruce's memory served him correctly. 

"It's a nice day out, Tony," Bruce said, instead of answering. He didn't make any eye contact. "You should be outside."

Tony let out a startled laugh. "Are you hearing yourself right now?"

Bruce hummed noncommittally. "What do you want me to say?"

"Oh, I don't know, 'I'll talk to you next time I'm feeling this way'? 'It won't happen again'?"

"I can't promise you that."

It was in their nature, for rufous hummingbirds to be so aggressive. They couldn't help themselves. They didn't know how normal hummingbirds should behave. Their instincts told them everyone's out to get them, so all they could do was defend themselves from what they perceived as a threat. 

"Can you just... Can you try?"

"I don't know."

A little bit odd, how aggressive they were. If you were to have seen them on the ground, skittering about, you wouldn't have guessed them to be anything other than peaceful. They just looked like every other hummingbird around. Female rufous hummingbirds, or rare green-backed males, were near indistinguishable from Allen's hummingbirds. Normal hummingbirds. 

Bruce wondered what it would be like to fly. He wondered what it would be like to fall from up so high.

"How am I alive?" Bruce paused. "How did you find me?"

Tony let out an exasperated breath. "That's what you're choosing to focus on?"

"Please. I need to know."

"Fine. You Hulked out. In spite of everything, you Hulked out. Jolly Green was seen on a hidden camera planted across from where you'd rented that house. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"I... Yes." Bruce intertwined his fingers and laid them onto his lap. "Thank you."

Tony sat back down. "I just don't know what to do with you."

"I think about that sometimes, too."

Rick, who hadn't moved or said anything in a while, finally spoke up. "Maybe you should see a shrink."

Because that was usually where conversations like these led. A psychiatrist needed to be called, or a therapist, or a psychologist, because no one else knew what to do, but none of those people would know what to do, either, because there was something wrong with him that couldn't be fixed. 

There was something inside of him that was broken into parts that were far too small to be glued back together.

Bruce nodded politely. "Yes, maybe I should."

"Can you promise me that, at least?" Rick finally turned his head to look at him. His eyes looked wet, as if he was trying his best not to cry.

"Son..." Bruce put his hand on Rick's, who didn't move away. 

"Please?"

"Alright." And he was fairly certain that that was a lie, too, but he didn't know what else to say. He didn't know how to make it all stop. "I'll try." 

Tony visibly deflated, and so, the three men in that tiny room sat. There was no more noise. Nothing outside of their breathing, and they breathed, slow but surely. 

Outside, a green-backed hummingbird flew away.