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As the grey smoke left his lips, blowing into a cloud, Bruce thought how it had come to this. His tears had dried down into his skin, leaving ugly looking trails under his eyes while the slight shine of the moon above him shone down on him.
The voices of his teammates echoed in his head, like a ball ricocheting against an infinite amount of walls.
Their words made the wound in his heart split open a little more every time, Bruce’s throat closing up while his brain helpfully supplied more thoughts of violence against- against his teammates.
Bruce choked on a dry sob, covering his mouth with his fist as he pinched the mouth of his cigarette so tightly that it almost broke apart. He bit his lip, closing his eyes as he felt his head starting to shut out the world around them; the honking of cars fading into nothing but silence.
As he took another drag, he bowed his head and tried to remember good memories of him and the team - when he and Tony would stay up for hours, working on a single project that they would then deem absolutely useless the next day; that time he made pancakes with Sam and Steve; when he taught Thor how to use his phone without taking out the power of the tower.
But then, soon enough, bad memories and strings of broken sentences would go through those good memories and slap him in the face. The corners of his eyes stung with tears before he broke down again, as sharp words from his childhood had made its way back too.
What made him so sad, so angry at the world, was that it all happened when he would stay hidden in the shadows.
The first time it happened, Bruce didn’t think much of it.
Bruce had developed the bad habit of walking silently since the days of getting chased around the world by Ross and so it stuck.
He was about to walk into the kitchen when he heard Sam trying to encourage Steve to say something.
“Oh c’mon Steve, no one’s around, he won’t know.”
Steve stammered, fidgeting with his fingers from where Bruce could see as he peaked around the corner. “But- but he’s my teammate and it was just a little mistake.”
Bruce could feel the mood shift as Sam responded. “A little mistake that almost got Tony killed.”
Bruce’s eyes widened as his brain connected the dots, endless possibilities of what they were talking about but only one stood out: when Bruce had mixed up the coordinates of a hostage with one of the captors when the team was called to take down another HYDRA branch in Canada. Good thing Jarvis warned Tony in time of the bullet or else there would’ve been no more Tony today; it was aimed straight at his arc reactor.
Steve blew a breath before he hesitantly continued, “Fine…I’m just really confused on how Bruce messed up like that. I don’t know if he’s getting enough sleep lately and Coulson’s suggesting I bench him for the next few missions.”
Ah, there it is.
Bruce sighed before he turned on his heel and walked away quietly, bumping into Clint as he came back up from his training session with Nat.
Clint gave him a small grin as he apologized profusely, helping him up from his place on the ground. “It’s alright Bruce, you weren’t looking.” He sounded like he was trying to hold back his laughter.
Bruce huffed, “Step laughing, this isn’t funny. Rather embarrassing for me.” Clint smirked and helped him pat the nonexistent dust off his clothes. Clint, being Clint, he ruffled Bruce’s hair, making the other man blush so hard the colour of his skin competed with that of a tomato.
Ever since an incident involving the Hulk and Clint a few months back that included a cave, an injured Clint, and a naked and jittery Bruce, the pair had grown a little closer than before. And Clint wasn’t so bad on the eyes…
As Clint walked away, swaying his hips, Bruce felt lighter than before.
The second time it happened, the Hulk growled in his head.
Bucky had walked by him as he just finished smoking and gave him a look of disgust before walking away. Bruce felt a shiver go down his spine but went back to his lab anyway, pretending that didn’t happen and inferred that Becky’s reaction was because it had probably triggered a bad memory for him.
A few hours later, when the elevator doors dinged open, he was met face to face with a drunk Tony. Huh.
“Heyyy Bru…Broccolini.” Tony slurred as he entered the elevator, leaning against the wall of the elevator and barely pushing the button to his floor.
Bruce chuckled, “Hey Tony. Tried to keep up with Bucky and Steve again?”
Drunk Tony smiled a little, “Just Buck this time. He told me something about you…” Then Tony turned to him and looked serious, his eyes weirdly wide and innocent from the hazing alcohol. “He told me not to tell you but I’ll tell you anyway because you’re my best friend!”
Bruce frowned. What had Bucky told Tony about him? Hopefully it wasn’t very bad or humiliating, but who was he kidding? Tony would probably forget by morning and pretend nothing happened.
“Yeah?”
Tony hummed. “He said that you’re disgusting for smoking. Smoking bad.” Weirdly, Tony was rather coherent.
Bruce sucked in a breath, hearing the other guy stir in his place. No Hulk, not right now.
“Why don’t we get you to bed, yeah? I don’t need you walking up in the hot tub or something.”
As Bruce dragged a drunk and loud Tony out of the elevator to the latter’s floor, Bruce echoed the drunk words of Tony and sober thoughts of Bucky.
The third time it happened, it was said right in front of his face.
Coulson and Fury were practically seething as the team got back from their recent mission, all of them covered in dust and debris; hastily bandaged wounds by the medics in an attempt to not be in the direct line of fire of Fury’s wrath.
As they all took their seats, some of the team missing (Clint and Nat, dammit), Coulson and Fury had their eye carefully on Bruce who was hunched over himself, in a desperate attempt to hide and shield away from the others.
Some of Tony’s suit had practically melted onto him, restricting his movements, making Thor his little maid since Thor was closest to him on the battlefield when a small yet blazing hot ball of radiation was fired at Tony. Tony had barely dodged it as it threw him into a pile of debris, setting some of his suit on fire.
Nasty burns covered in burn cream took up a lot of Tony’s skin, bound to scar in the future months.
Clint and Nat got the worst of it, direct hits of fireballs aimed at them without warning, now fighting for their lives in the ICU of medbay in the helicarrier.
Thor, Steve, and Bucky made it out with the least damage, only a stray hair and a few scratches on each of them.
They were still looking for Sam; the Falcon, who was supposedly injured from hits of sparks of both radiation and some sort of acid.
They had gotten bad intel from a guy Bruce knew, even though the intel was backed up by some of Nat’s deeply trusted guys, about a new villain in town. Their informants were right about the villain, yes, but they had greatly underestimated their villain’s firepower, Bruce’s guy supplying that their villain only was equipped with a few big guns and that’s it.
Fury would’ve blamed this on Nat but she was fighting for her life in the ICU along with Clint, so they had to blame Bruce. Clint and Nat were in the direct line of fire and were hit by several fireballs, including a nearby detonation of a small bomb employed by the Black Widow herself.
They were quietly debriefed by a tight-lipped Fury and a stressed looking Coulson. Once they were finished, they all got up to help Tony to the Quinjet where they would help Tony to his lab to help get the melted parts of metal off his body, but Bruce was called by Fury himself to stay back.
He mentally prepared himself as he was told to follow Fury, ending up in his office. Coulson joined a minute later with two manila folders in hand that both had ‘confidential’ stamped in red on their covers.
Once the door had shut, it had started.
“Can we trust you Dr. Banner?” Fury asked, a tint of anger in his voice. His voice strained against his vocal cords, probably in an attempt to stop himself from shouting bloody murder.
“I have two of my agents in the ICU with third-degree burns on multiple and vital parts of their bodies, might I add, because of bad intel we received from your informant.” Coulson went off, his face turning red and his pointer finger jabbing into his chest every time he made a point.
“We also have Stark who now has half his suit melted into his skin because of you, Dr. Banner. The Council is reinstating Act 1736 of The Rightful Conventions as your rightful punishment.” Fury added, hissing at Bruce.
‘The Council is reinstating Act 1736 of The Rightful Conventions .’
Bruce’s breath was caught in his throat, panicking. “Please, Director, I-”
Fury glared at him before he found himself in a tight pair of handcuffs along with chains tied around his ankles.
He was thrown into a restrictive and transparent transportation box, where he was restrained by heavy cuffs, his arms held over his head, and a gamma collar strapped around his neck too tightly. Hill supervised him with an evil glint in her eye, from the moment he was sedated and woken up.
When he did wake up, however, he was in a cold and dirty all black cell, no windows or visible doors in sight. There was a brown leather book by his head along with a matching pen. He knew there was a camera in the right corner of his cell, tiny microphones embedded into the walls.
He knew three guards were watching him through the camera and four guards were outside the ‘door,’ readied with hulk-buster level equipment, ready to kill him if he ever tried to escape.
Bruce knew this protocol all too well - it was made specifically for him, actually. No one else was put through this since it was so brutal.
Act 1736 of The Rightful Conventions meant that he was subjected to no food, water, or human contact until it was deemed he was fine. Fine.
By fine, The Council meant until the people hurt in relation to the Hulk were okay, he was ordered to ‘contemplate’ his decisions - only released if the person were released from the hospital. Worst case scenario was that the person was dead, meaning he was ordered to confinement for one month.
Best case scenario was that the person was in hospital, meaning only two weeks of confinement.
The only way the guards would release him when his period of time was over was if he had finished writing in the journal he was given. The instructions on what to write in the journal were all his contemplations about what he did, and would be taken away the day before his time ended where it would be read to be verified that yes, he should be released.
The Council disregarded the custom a few years back due to unknown reasons but now they had reinstated it, making him want to just run, to escape.
But he couldn’t, so he got to writing.
The fourth time it happened, Bruce wasn’t fazed.
SHIELD still hadn’t forgiven him for the last mission - and neither did some of the team. Thor was hesitant to sit beside him at breakfast and Steve and Bucky ignored him every chance they got. Clint, Nat, and Tony were all healing up nicely and they didn’t seem fazed by the recent mission that much.
Thankfully they weren’t called for missions and nobody questioned where Bruce was in the middle of all this.
They were all gathered around the table for breakfast, quietly talking to who they were sitting beside and eating, all in their own world.
Bruce’s recent time in confinement was worse than ever before, since apparently the guards were now allowed to shoot at him at random times, through tiny and unnoticeable sniper holes in the walls. He was also subjected to intense bullying through a newly installed and discreet PA system.
Bruce was in the middle of finishing his second waffle when Jarvis sparked to life. “Dr. Banner, I believe you have a package awaiting you at your front door.” Bruce sighed, barely nodding before stuffing the rest of his two waffles, three sausages, and a fried egg into his mouth and standing up to go get the package.
Packages couldn’t get to their front door of each of their rooms in the towers from outside sources so it was probably from someone in the tower.
It was an inconspicuous brown box, sealed with black electrical tape. He brought it inside where he opened it with one of his kitchen knives, stopping when he saw the contents.
It was a worn out arrow - Clint’s arrow nonetheless - with a message wrapped around the end. It was written in a familiar scrawl, not Clint’s that’s for sure, but the message still came across as perfectly threatening.
‘Thou can kill two birds with one stone but you killed three with your own fists.’
The fifth time it happened, Bruce felt nothing and walked past them, sick of being just a shadow.
His habit of silent walking was becoming a problem as he had just walked in on a gossip session with Clint, Nat, and Tony.
It wouldn’t hurt to just listen for a little bit, Bruce thought, not knowing the dire consequences.
He kept his back against the wall and stuck his ear out and around the corner, enabling him to listen. He risked it all and peaked too, seeing that they were sitting on the couch, drinking what looked like Nat’s Russian imported vodka.
The mood felt melancholic as they all pitched in their form of gossip. Tony had something about Cap; Clint had something about Bucky; and Nat? She had something to say about Bruce.
They had all finished laughing over Tony’s take of gossip, him apparently seeing Cap in Iron Man themed boxers as Tony walked past him a few days ago but they had all questioned why Tony was looking there in the first place.
It was then Nat’s turn.
“Overheard the other day about Banner being in confinement.” Well that certainly upped the mood.
Bruce could practically hear Clint shift uncomfortably in his spot. “Maybe you were hearing it wrong. Why would Bruce be in confinement?”
Nat snorted, “Why wouldn’t he be in confinement at this point?”
Tony chuckled, “I heard that The Council ordered him to confinement because of the last mission. He’s one of my best friends but his intel almost killed me- us.”
Bruce felt the temperature of the room drop to zero. “Good on The Council,” Nat said, acting like her guys didn’t also have the same intel as his informant. That just irked him - acting like she wasn’t a part of the problem.
Over the past few weeks, months, Bruce has had enough of this bullshit.
He waited a few seconds before he walked around the corner, into the room. This room had a bar so he had an excuse - he could say he was looking for drinks…even though he didn’t drink.
As soon as he walked into the room, it went tense. Clint greeted him with a high-pitched hello, Tony gave him the fake smile he would usually use for paparazzi, and Nat nodded at him. He felt his hands shake as he bent down, going through the fridge bar, and taking a cider with an alcohol percentage of two percent.
He just nodded as they bade him a goodbye when he exited the room.
He acted like he couldn’t hear Nat’s exclaims of office gossip about him.
The sixth time, however, Bruce broke down and ran.
He was done.
Absolutely fucking done with this shit.
As soon as he heard Sam just say that, say that he shouldn’t be on the team if Hulk was doing all the heavy lifting, his breath caught in his throat and he walked back to his room quickly where he stuffed his cig box into his pocket along with his lighter, slipping on a discreet hoodie along with a ball cap.
The other guy growled, confused, wondering why Raven had said that.
Tears had slipped down his cheeks as he exited the tower, clenching his fists in an attempt to calm himself down, hoping he wouldn’t just break down in the middle of the streets of Manhattan.
He just started walking, taking twists and random rights and lefts, hoping he would end up somewhere that wasn’t there. He made it pretty far for having no money to take public transport. He had ended up in an empty field just west of Queens.
He didn’t notice Clint following him until it was too late.
It was night time by then, taking time to appreciate the full moon. He shook out a stick from the box, hanging it between his teeth before lighting it. He sat down before taking a drag, holding it in for a few seconds before slowly blowing out a grey cloud of smoke.
His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions and the other guy , who had thankfully gone back to sleep. The wind had dried his running tears into his cheeks, making him wince as he felt a gush of wind wash over him. He should’ve brought a thicker sweater.
He leaned back, one hand supporting him while the other held his cigarette, and watched the moon. He felt melancholic and almost like an angsty teenager with too much hate for this world. He zoned out for a bit, letting too many thoughts and empty words and phrases run through his mind, some conjuring up tears.
He sobbed as he remembered some of the words, phrases, actions of his teammates; how they had seemed to utterly betray him. Broken sentences and violent words arised from childhood back into his mind, memories he thought were so deeply compartmentalized that he thought he had forgotten about them.
As he took a long drag, images of his mother lying lifeless on the pavement before him, blood seeping from her head, flashed before his eyes, making him choke up a dry sob. He covered his mouth with his fist and pushed the top of his fist into his face, feeling angry at the world.
Then he heard a rustle in the grass.
His head snapped up and he looked behind him. “Whoever’s there, I hope you don’t kill me.”
Then, somebody started walking forward. To say Bruce wasn’t terrified out of his mind was a complete and utter lie.
But then the moonlight shined on their face and- oh it was Clint. He gulped. “Clint?” Bruce whispered, surprised to see one of his teammates here. Who had followed him.
“Hey, Bruce.” Clint responded breathlessly, “Can I- can I sit with you?” He looked sheepish as he asked but was relieved when Bruce answered with a curt nod and he was plopping beside Bruce in no time.
Bruce felt Clint staring, but had decided not to comment on it. They didn’t talk, just the sound of their breathing, grasshoppers chirping, and the sound of Bruce taking longs drags from his stick filled the air with enough noise.
Some tears were still flowing but Clint didn’t care, just stared up at the moon, like Bruce, and had patted Bruce’s hand in a leisure attempt to smooth his nerves. Bruce breathed a sigh before he finally turned and looked at Clint.
“Why did you follow me here?” He asked softly, his breath hitching as Clint turned to face him and their noses almost touching. Bruce hadn’t noticed how they were sitting together.
“I felt like I needed to. Just in case I needed to be your knight in shining armour.” Clint joked, smirking slightly and grinning as Bruce chuckled lightly at him and his joke.
“I shall be your damsel in distress then,” Bruce added. Clint chuckled and just a few minutes after that, Clint put his arm around Bruce and pulled him into his side. Bruce didn’t push away, but may have gotten a little comfortable in the gesture.
Bruce breathed a sigh of relief, a little less angry at the world. Bruce crushed the nub of the cigarette into dust with his finger, wiping the ash on his sweater. He wrung his hands together while he leaned against Clint’s shoulder, feeling a little more at peace than just a few hours ago.