Bruce Banner (isalwaysangry) wrote in rooms, @ 2014-04-27 13:16:00 |
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Bruce's mind was cloudy when he came to, but it didn't take a lot of thought to know what happened. Even without the recollection of him actively changing, he knew what it felt like. His body felt bruised and exhausted, although there were no visible cuts and bruises on his skin. It was his insides that always felt raw afterward. He only got a scattering of memories afterward, images and flashes, faces, the feeling of intense power, and he was glad to find himself in a bed. He woke up in a lot of strange places completely naked before. So a bed with clothes, that was a step up. It wasn't his, but that made sense, he was probably moved to a secure location like Stark Tower. He moved his legs over the side of the bed and ran fingers through his tousled hair; he was dirty, it was impossible not to be after crushing his way through a city. Bruce reached for his tablet, and he considered messaging one of the team first, or asking JARVIS where Tony was, but his paranoia set in. He couldn't just assume things went well. As usual he automatically thought the worst instead. He rubbed his eyes and was going to need new glasses, he wasn't sure where his pair was. Somewhere in the tower. Bruce read through the reports; it was bad, of course, but it looked like the Marauders were beaten off at least. Earth's Mightiest Heroes came through, the best they could. From other worlds too. It was just like before, people putting aside their differences for the common good. That was almost enough for him, except he knew exactly why he wanted to shut it down. Why he wanted to let himself have faith they got it under control. Because somewhere in him, he had the sinking feeling that said everything was wrong. So he looked. And he knew. Bruce's hands shook and he put the tablet down and to the side. He didn't want to look on the network, not yet. He didn't have the body count, or the damage count, he'd probably figure that out later and obsess. Add them to the ever growing list he had in the back of his mind. It was possible none of the numbers could exactly be traced to the Hulk, not after all of the destruction, but he would look for it. He was incapable of letting things lie that way. The number was a reminder. A warning. A truth he could never forget. There was a certain point where no amount of guilt or grief was enough. He thought eventually it would be too much and he'd feel nothing at all, but that would be a kindness his compassion didn't allow. One of the worst parts was he started to believe. He went into the battle afraid but hopeful that it could be like the last, that maybe he'd come far enough. Maybe he was just shaping a weapon and directing it somewhere else. But he'd been right all along, of course. The Hulk was a rabid animal, one set off at a dozen different triggers. They were both untrustworthy. Bruce couldn't face the network, the team, his friends, or her, it was pointless. All he could do was think of his options. And focus on those instead of the flashes of memory he kept getting that horrified him. The option he wanted the most, the one he'd wanted for years now, was taken away from him. A bullet in his mouth was only the first of other attempts, and he gave up after the tenth, when it was clear no amount of pain or blood loss would make a difference. He thought about trying again right now. It would get rid of this living hell. He was exhausted, he felt sick, he dreamed of a swift end where it all went dark and that was it. The peace he'd find, and even if the others grieved him, some part of them had to know it was for the best. But that door was closed to him, for now. He'd think of another way to attempt it later. He focused on more practical options. They were turned over in his head and he finally reached a decision. Bruce left his tablet there, he had nothing to say to anyone and less they had to say to him, and walked barefoot down to the cell that was designed for Loki. He'd spent a lot of time up in the observation room, staying far away from the god, because of what they knew would happen if the two clashed. Three times now and counting. He wasn't confident about much, but he seemed very certain when he walked into the cell and sat down on the floor, at the back of it in the corner. If this was a cage, it was a cage he chose, and that's where he was going to stay. And if he was lucky, or they were lucky, people would just forget about him. |