Chapter Text
It had been a long, long time since then. Since the ashes drifted out of grasp. Since he lost his friends, his family, his second chance at life. He was so angry. The rage simmered savagely below his supple skin, but Bruce wouldn’t let it consume him like it had all too many times before.
He slipped a small pill out of its case in his pocket, his hand shuddering like an earthquake once again. His skin rippled like waves warning an approaching storm, threatening to wash his splintered sanity out to never be seen again. He popped the pill through his lips and fought the urge to gag as he swallowed the capsule, praying for a quick end to his suffering. His skin and muscles bulged and swelled, as an all too familiar emerald stain spread in patches across his arms, his neck, and his face. He stumbled past the mirror, out into the ardent air.
It was hot, too hot really, but the rage in the form of his grief made his skin seemingly corrode in the sweltering sunlight. The familiar quickening of his pulse faded like the lives of his friends, like Loki, Vision, Peter, Bucky, Sam, Wanda, Fury, Miss Hill, Scott, even Tony , and of course everyone else.
His anger grew monumentally. They died. They were gone. And he couldn’t do anything because the big guy didn’t want to come out. His new family faded to dust, to nothingness, and all he could do was watch from the wreck of mangled metal formerly known as the hulkbuster, through the broken visor and blaring alarms of the suit as the enhanced alien tore the machine to scrap.
His pulse spiked. The drug wasn’t working. He couldn’t do anything right. His anger grew. It threatened to consume him. He feared it would burst. His powers were useless. He was useless. Just like his plan then. He couldn’t save his family. They were gone, Gone! They were dead. And now the Hulk wanted out. He wanted freedom. He wanted vengeance. Thanos was dead. The stones were gone. They weren’t coming back. He couldn’t talk philosophy with vision. He couldn’t watch sitcoms with Wanda. He couldn’t run experiments with Peter’s help. He couldn’t share tacos with Scott. He couldn’t work through his feelings with Sam. He couldn’t learn to spar with Bucky.
Grief. Rage. Grief. Rage. Two sides of the same coin. Weak. Useless. That’s what he was. He wasn’t a hero. He couldn't help.
His rage spiked once more. His jacket ripped at the seams over his swelling shoulders before his heart rate settled and slowed due to the suppressants he made and shield manufactured for when he needed. Miss Hill brought them to him, always accompanied by a thermos of green tea and a conversation. Except she didn’t anymore, not since she faded into the air. Tears welled up in the corners of his eyes, threatening to spill over. And so they did, falling like his family from his grasp. Falling to the soil below. Falling like he now fell to his knees, overwhelmed and cornered by his shortcomings and regrets.
He lay there for a moment, soaking in the earthy air in shuddery, shaky breaths.The unwanted stench of petrichor burning his sinuses as tears burned his eyes.
The place was nice. It had everything a nuclear physicist with superpowers and volatile anger issues could need. Tony had really gone all out on this place, in Bruce’s opinion. There was a pool, a private beach, a basement full of enough science equipment to do virtually anything and a hulk-proof chamber - just in case. Most importantly of all, it was secluded, far away from anyone so he wouldn’t have to worry about hurting someone- or worse- when he was ‘hulking-out’,as the team said.
God, he needed to call them. However, more concerningly, he needed to control the beast inside him, and remain a man rather than a monster. He needed help, a therapist even. Sam wasn’t here anymore to work through it and he didn’t trust himself to not accidentally hurt someone else, so he would have to get through this himself.
He still made a mental note to call Natasha and Thor soon though, he just needed time and they needed a break from the vast responsibilities they took over. Bruce still wasn’t over Ragnarok, despite an entire year passing since the end of that world. He would call Tony too, and see how he and Pepper were doing. They were probably stressed, especially with their child on the way and having to roll out aid to billions of people on Earth alone.
But this problem needed solving, the problem of his powers, his place in the team, and his grief. But first he needed a drink.