Chapter Text
“Good morning, Doctor Banner.”
A quiet, automated voice roused him from sleep. Bruce slowly opened his eyes, blinking up at the ceiling. Artificial white light blinked on overhead, gradually enough that it didn’t make him squint in pain. The straps that had kept him bound against the mattress clicked, signaling his freedom to move, so he lifted a hand to reach toward the nightstand and fumble for his glasses. He didn’t have great dexterity these days, what with all of the drugs flowing through his veins, but he managed to grab hold and clumsily shove them onto his face.
When he sat up, vertigo sent his world spinning as he took a quiet breath and replied to the voice. “Good morning, LEO.” He didn’t know what LEO stood for, but it had introduced itself to him the first morning he was here. “What’s on the agenda today?”
“Today is August thirteenth, twenty-twenty-eight. It is eight o’clock a.m. You will have breakfast brought to you in about five minutes, and then you must take your medication. The rest of the morning is dedicated to your free time. At eleven o’clock, you will have a visitor, and you will have lunch at twelve o’clock.”
LEO continued speaking, but Bruce didn’t listen. He frowned as his gaze trailed toward the bottles on his nightstand. “A visitor?” he asked, interrupting the stream of words from the AI. “Who is it?”
There was a slight pause. “It seems Spider-Man has asked to see you.”
Bruce blinked, a jolt of pain shooting through his head. As he began to remember seeing red and a pleading eye beneath him, he shuddered and fumbled for the bottle of pills beside him. As he uneasily shook a few into the palm of his hand, LEO began warning him against the consumption of pills on an empty stomach. Bruce ignored it.
On time, a plate of toast and coffee was slid through a slot beside his locked door. He ate his breakfast in silence, not risking asking any more questions for fear of the answers spiking his heart rate. He couldn’t risk that. He wouldn’t. Thankfully, the pills muddled his mind and made it hard to think and feel.
Bruce sat on the edge of the mattress, glancing around the room he’d been calling home recently. It was a decent-sized room. Padded walls reinforced with vibranium and a huge, intricate lock on the door that certain large hands wouldn’t be able to pick or break. A bed pushed against the corner, a nightstand, a table stacked with books that he’d barely touched, and notes given to him by the therapist. Hung by the door were a few syringes and a straitjacket for emergencies.
Not that any doctors actually entered this room, of course. The wall was made of bulletproof glass, with protective, vibranium padding covering it. The vibranium padding was made to carousel to the left with the push of a button to showcase the glass wall, allowing Bruce to see his doctors and his (very few) visitors. Jen had come by last week, complaining that the people at the front desk had confiscated the food she had brought for him. Bruce had smiled weakly and told her he couldn’t really blame them.
With the medication, it was hard for him to do anything these days except sleep. Bruce had tried, so hard, to live a normal life. It had worked for some time, but it just was never truly in the cards for him. This was where he belonged.
He stared blankly ahead at the padded wall. His head was killing him.
Slowly, he lay on his side, allowing his eyes to go slack as he watched the wall ahead of him. Shapes and shadows danced blurrily along the wall, moving happily with the knowledge that they would never have to worry about him destroying them.
His eyes slipped closed.
***
“Sir! Sir, can you hear me?”
The sky was cloudy, but everything was still much too bright. His vision, blurry with a terribly familiar migraine, attempted to zero in on the vague direction of the voice in between bits of rubble. After registering pain, panic quickly followed. Instinctually, his hands came to rest along his bare forearms, trying to conserve heat.
“Sir!” The voice called again. He was able to discern that it was a young woman clad in neon paramedic gear. She moved some of the smaller bits of rubble away to reach toward him. “Sir, you’re going to be alright. Can you hear me?”
“What…” His own voice sounded very far away, his tongue much too big for his mouth. He blinked harder, trying to shake off some of the fog. It was worse than he remembered. Perhaps, since it had been so long, it was worse. “Did I...hurt anyone?”
Though his vision was still blurry, the paramedic seemed to grimace. “Do you think you can walk?”
“Please,” he mumbled, ignoring her question completely. “Did I hurt anyone?” Weakly, he reached toward her, which immediately made her flinch. Before he could ask again, two larger men, whom he didn’t even notice had approached, hauled him up by the shoulders, each wearing neon uniforms.
“Take it easy, big guy,” one of the men said to him as they strapped him to a stretcher. They began rolling him toward an ambulance, with the young woman nervously in tow. “No need to get yourself more worked up.”
Desperately, his eyes fell upon the young woman again. He was unable to move, but he pleaded with her nonetheless. “Did I hurt anyone? Is it just me?”
His only answer was the doors to the ambulance closing, the sound echoing throughout the compartment and reverberating in his skull. The paramedic who had been waiting to receive him checked his straps, then turned away. His heart pounded as his gaze slowly trailed to his wrist, empty for what seemed like the first time in years.
“Okay, sir, we’re going to take this ride nice and easy.” The paramedic’s voice was soft as she turned back around, holding a syringe. “I’d prefer no surprises. I hope you understand.”
“P-Please,” he choked over the sound of her prepping the needle. “Please, tell me, is anyone hurt?”
The woman smiled placatingly, as if to dismiss the question entirely. “Relax, now, Doctor Banner. I’m going to take care of you.”
The familiar sensation of a needle in his neck didn’t stop the darkness from coming surprisingly quickly.
***
The sound of whirring metal awoke him with a start. LEO’s voice spoke overhead as Bruce blearily watched the vibranium padding slowly inch toward the wall, the beginnings of glass peeking out from beneath. “It is eleven o’clock, Doctor Banner. Your visitor has arrived.”
Hazy memory of his earlier conversation tickled the back of his brain as he slowly pushed himself up to sit, rubbing his eyes beneath the glasses he’d forgotten to take off. Just as he did whenever his therapist came to visit, as if a robot following his programming, he wordlessly stood up, ignoring the vertigo to grab the chair and drag it loudly across the floor. By the time he reached the wall, the carousel had finished its round, leaving only bulletproof glass and Spider-Man behind it.
As Bruce sat down, Spider-Man straightened up and took a step toward the glass, a little hesitantly. “Hey, Doctor Banner.” He sounded cheerful as ever, but he was shifting his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “You’re, uh…well, I was gonna say you’re looking well, but that would be a lie. You look kinda rough, man.”
Bruce snorted. He had to hand it to him, it was a welcome change from the mix of pity and fear he often saw on the doctors’ and therapists’ faces when they asked him how he was feeling. The answer would always be the same, and there was really no point in asking to begin with.
“Can’t argue with you there.” His head was still somewhat foggy with the remnants of sleep, but the red suit pulled at his brain, urging him to panic and remember all the terrible memories that had brought him here. Drawing in a shaky breath, he forced himself to look up, simultaneously relieved and disappointed he was unable to see the kid’s eyes through his mask. “What’re you doing here?”
Spider-Man hesitated. It seemed he had a thousand different things he wanted to say, but he settled on, “Wanted to check on an old friend.”
Admittedly, the memory there had always been a little foggy, even before the medication. They’d worked together years ago, and Spider-Man was Tony’s prodigy, the exact reason he’d even invented time travel in the first place and saved the world. Spider-Man had always been special, but not one soul knew his name or face. Bruce couldn’t even be sure Tony knew who he was, and that was saying something.
Bruce, however, now knew his face. He tilted his head slightly, imagining the young man behind the mask - the strange kid who wasn’t one of his students, who’d come asking about an inhibitor and stumbled over his words as he tried clearly to hide something. He hadn’t put it together then, but in the DODC building, right before disaster, it had been so clear.
“That’s nice of you, Ned.” He’d be lying if he didn’t get some satisfaction from the body language - the way the kid had immediately recoiled as if the words had been a hot iron. He chuckled quietly. “You had a universal inhibitor. I may be old now, but I haven’t lost my mind yet.”
The boy stumbled over his words for a moment, then hung his head in defeat. “Yeah, okay.” He paused, hesitating for a moment, and leaned closer. “It’s Peter,” he whispered, almost inaudible.
With a slight smile, Bruce nodded, miming zipping his lips and throwing away the key. Most of the Avengers hadn’t done the whole “secret identity” thing, but this kid was young. Early twenties at most. It made sense he wanted to keep it a secret.
“I’m sorry about what happened.” Spider-Man spoke suddenly, bringing Bruce out of his thoughts. He couldn’t see his face, but he could see the way his shoulders drooped. “Jean was hurt, and she used you to try and make herself feel better, and I couldn’t…I didn’t save you. I’m sorry.” Sharp pain shot through Bruce’s brow at the mention of it, trying desperately not to think about how it had felt to have her pry the Hulk from him like it was nothing.
As a man of science, he always forgot to include magic in his hypotheses.
He had to turn away a little, wincing at the sensation as he attempted to breathe through it. He lifted a hand to wave away Spider-Man’s concern and clenched his jaw. “Believe it or not, this isn’t the first time a teenage girl has gotten into my head,” he mumbled, massaging circles into his temple. “No one can save me, Spider-Man, but I can at least thank you for trying.”
Spider-Man’s goggles widened, mimicking wide eyes. “That’s not true. You’re gonna be fine. Once you’re cleared with the doctors, a-and once Ms. Walters pleads your case, you’re getting out of here.”
Slowly, Bruce lowered his hand from his head in surprise. “You…actually believe that.” Shaking his head, he glanced around the room. “I’m never getting out of here.”
“What?”
The boy seemed genuinely surprised, the sort of young naïvety that Bruce could only barely remember having, once. He swallowed thickly. “I have tried, for years, to figure out how to continue living. I thought I could fix it with self-care when I lived in India. I thought I could fix it with science. I thought I could still be Bruce Banner even with a monster inside me, but I can’t. By suppressing him all these years, he’s gotten angrier and more unruly. Everyone in New York knows it.” He released a shaky breath, sweat dripping from his brow down onto the floor as he struggled to his feet. His head felt like it was going to explode. “I hurt people at the damage control building, after years of assuring the public that it would never be a problem again. They will never forget that, and I will be locked up for the rest of my life, doing everything we can to keep the Other Guy quiet.”
“Doctor Banner, that’s…” Spider-Man’s voice cracked. Bruce barely noticed.
“I’m lucky I’m not on the Raft with our former president,” he huffed, turning his back to him to walk shakily toward the bed to grab the bottle of pills. “New York doesn’t need me, anyway. They have you.”
As he popped a few into his mouth, he glanced over his shoulder. Spider-Man was standing so close to the glass now that if he hadn’t been wearing a mask, he surely would have fogged it up with his breath. “But that’s unfair,” he said, not unlike a child. “You didn’t have control over that!”
“That’s exactly the problem!” he retorted as he whirled around. The second the words left his lips, searing pain burned through his head, causing him to groan and drop to his knees, putting his head in his hands. He breathed, praying for the pills to work, to take the memories of his failures away.
“Doctor Banner!” Spider-Man’s hands were against the glass now, and he was looking around frantically. “Someone help!”
Breathing raggedly, he shook his head. “No,” he choked. “No, I’m fine.”
Despite his half-hearted words, LEO spoke up above him. “Heart rate has spiked. Employing defensive measures.” Calming music began to blast through the speakers as a robotic arm shot forward, taking the straitjacket from its place by the door. It wrapped around Bruce quickly and tightly, leaving him immobile on his knees as he tried to breathe. As the wall began moving to cover the glass, Spider-Man banged on it.
“Hey!”
LEO’s voice spoke on the other side of the glass, directly to Spider-Man now. Bruce couldn’t even pick out any words, having to use all of his remaining sapped energy to focus on his breathing. The metal whirring of the door ceased, and a loud few clicks echoed throughout the room as the locks along the door unlocked. The door swung open and shut and Spider-Man was by his side in seconds.
“It’s okay, Bruce, it’s okay, I got you,” Spider-Man murmured, rubbing his back gently.
“Get away,” Bruce muttered, feeling the hot prick of tears in his eyes. “I don’t…want you to get hurt.”
Spider-Man shook his head, continuing to rub his back. “It’s okay,” he said softly, his voice a grounding presence. “The big guy isn’t gonna hurt me. You saved me at the DODC building.”
Bruce blinked, slowly moving his gaze up to Spider-Man. His voice was barely a whisper. “What?”
“You saved me,” Spider-Man repeated. “We were fighting, and I…well, I tried to reach you before he could hurt me. I said I was your friend. And he - you - listened.”
When the Other Guy was in charge, Bruce never remembered any of it. There was a small prick, a small glimmer - a name, something had forgotten about until this very moment. “Peter,” he said breathlessly.
Spider-Man nodded, continuing to rub his back while Bruce’s mind raced. Besides Natasha, he didn’t think there would ever be another person capable of stopping a rampage, especially after so many years of being repressed. He wasn’t even sure what to do with this information, but before he knew it, his breathing had mostly returned to normal.
“May I?” Spider-Man gestured to the straitjacket. Bruce nodded numbly, letting the kid take it off of him. When he was freed, he sat back on his heels. “Look, I don’t wanna call my superior a hypocrite, but…you asked me, once, how we determine what’s good and what’s bad in our mutations. You aren’t a monster, Doctor Banner, but if you treat the Hulk like one, that’s exactly what he’s gonna want to be.” Gently, he hauled Bruce to his feet, laying him on his mattress. “The more you try to suppress it with pills and inhibitors, the worse you’ll end up. You don’t need to be alone anymore. You don’t deserve to live like this.” He swallowed. “Get some rest, okay?”
Still somewhat covered in sweat and unable to properly respond, Bruce closed his eyes and let a tear roll down his cheek.
A gloved hand swiped it away.