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Slowly, Bruce begins to learn he can trust the Hulk.
He doesn't like it. He hates the transformation, the buildup, the unrelenting pressure in his head. He hates the way he seems to fade far into the background, the way it feels almost like dying , releasing control.
But the more he works with it, the less painful it becomes. At least, the anxiety writhing in the pit of his stomach like a nest of snakes becomes a little smaller.
He hates how when he comes to, the past few days are remembered in bits and pieces, flashes of images and sound from eyes that are distinctly Not His, flashes that feel something like third person view. He knows it was his body, but oh, it doesn't feel like it.
(The way the gamma mutates his form certainly doesn't help. Nothing is his own anymore, and he's not so sure it ever has been.)
He hates the process, the buildup, the waiting . The transformation feels like fire in his veins and he can feel every one of his bones crack and his muscles pull as they grow at a rate too accelerated to be possible, but it's the slow fade, the loss of control, of himself , that scares him the most.
… In the same vein, it's really not that bad, during it. It's kind of like sleeping, or maybe like being dead. Bruce just hates coming to and never knowing what he'll find .
The beginning, he thinks, was the worst. If he'd had any sense of identity before, it was crushed to pieces in the rubble of the first rampages. Those memories were a blur of panic and fear and loathing, when he didn't have the slightest clue where he ended and the Hulk began.
It's still like that sometimes, but it's turned down to a slight simmer.
The worst part was that the voice rumbling in the back of his head was familiar . As if it'd always been there. The gamma just emphasised it.
What the hell did that say about him? He tried to tell himself it was never his fault, that he wasn't the monster, he was possessed, that no part of him could be capable of such atrocities --
Well , the voice would always chuckle. Banner halfway there .
What the hell do you mean?
He didn't know when he got the idea to start talking back to it. He supposes he'd finally snapped, the years of isolation on the run finally getting to him.
(Maybe he's always been this way, really.)
It would answer on its own volition, and he would respond in turn, and communication would improve a little more each time. And slowly, he starts to realize the things Betty and Jen would try to tell him about Hulk weren't exactly inaccurate.
That he just wanted to be left alone.
That he could be gentle, even sweet, even funny .
That he was scared .
Just like Banner.
“Really, Bruce ,” Jen had told him one night, a hand clapped firmly on his shoulder. “I think you two could be good friends if you just gave it a chance . ” At the time, he'd laughed at how ludicrous that'd sounded, but now…
Well, Hulk was gentle when he wasn't being hounded.
Sometimes he'd tickle at the back of Bruce's mind, a gentle reminder to get some sleep here, a frustrated Banner think too much! there, or a sense of emotions he'd never quite been able to grasp before. A childlike sense of wonder at the world, something Bruce shared, most of which had been squashed down deep a long time ago.
Where he ended and Hulk began, he wasn't entirely sure. But maybe, that wasn't such a scary thought as it once was.
Gradually, it became easier to give himself in to Hulk, to stop fighting, to trust. Hulk didn't hurt or destroy on purpose. He was a cornered animal, a frightened child, and the data he had said fighting it made it infinitely worse.
There were certain things that were easier for Hulk, and certain things that were easier for Banner, and now, sometimes, when he felt that pull, he'd let it happen. Things seemed to run more smoothly that way.
Maybe it was sheer scientific curiosity, a burning desire to know what the hell was in his head and how it - how he - interacted with the world, but maybe it was something else.
Maybe it was appreciation. Gratefulness.
He thinks he could learn to live like this.