Bruce slept.

A child cowered in his room, sobbing. Outside, the sun was coming up and rays of light were reflected in the pools of blood that ran slowly down the pavement to the gutter. The same blood was in his hair, and on his hands, his knees, his threadbare t-shirt. His mother's blood. She'd had a smile that could stop Bruce's tears in their tracks but she couldn't stop her head's impact with the kerb, and he couldn't stop his father from making him watch. He could hear police sirens blaring, disrupting their sleepy little town. He'd tried to call them so many times before. He'd practiced saying "we need help, my mum needs help, please come get us," but had never had the courage to dial the number. Now all he could tell them was "you're too late." They took his father away as the blood dried in the sun and Robert wondered if he'd been forgotten. He wondered if any of the policemen knew his name.

Bruce slept.

He'd never been in this part of the school before. He wondered if the teachers even knew about it. It looked like the ghost of the shiny new room way above ground, the studio where the older girls giggled and did their hair and practised perfect pirouettes. The bar that ran across the wall was cracked, and broken in the middle. There was a thick film of dust over the mirrored walls that had been untouched for years, so he wrote his name on it, collecting the history on his finger and wiping the excess on his trousers. Robert Banner. He caught his reflection's eye somewhere in the B and wondered if anyone would even recognise his name. Then, the little boy frowned. Did he really want his name there? Don't be silly, a tiny voice reprimanded him. They're going to know it was you anyway, don't be such an idiot. They'll see you here. Even so, a little pink hand reached up and swept the name away, leaving a stretch of silver big enough to see his whole face in. He didn't like what he saw. But he liked what could be seen behind his face, so he turned around to see it properly. A mass of wires and blinking lights greeted him, like friends he'd never had. He crouched down next to the hub in the centre. He hoped he'd got the wiring right. Robert knew he was smart, that's what got him into this mess in the first place, but wiring a bomb was hard and it wasn't in any of the school textbooks, not even the ones for the big seniors. He'd checked. The lights changed colour and he lay down next to them. Robert Banner took in a deep breath and closed his eyes. He wished he'd left his name in the dust.

Bruce slept.

For the first time, his rage manifested himself and he wasn't Bruce anymore, (even though Robert had finally disappeared and he'd just startedbeing Bruce,) he was this new thing, this child that was full of anger and rage and power, who didn't understand the word and why it hated him. Did he know anything? He knew that Banner was scared, always scared, and when Banner was too scared and it got too much then it meant that it was his turn to come out and protect them both. He knew that he could stop people screaming by knocking them over and making them sleep, and that was good, but when Betty slept in that cold white room it was bad and Banner was scared again but wouldn't let him come out, would never let him come out. Then the two of them ran, ran across the sea and the sky, until Banner got tired of running and wanted to sleep as well.

Bruce slept.

He wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the situation, because what else could he do? "Guns are never the answer," some past version of him had argued, to a girl who'd been to military school and could never quite forget it. "They don't help anyone and never will." But wouldn't this help? Wouldn't this solve everything? It didn't feel heavy in his hand. It didn't even feel wrong. It was a nice, solid weight. Something real and tangible. An anchor. Only anchors are supposed to keep you grounded. Bruce wanted himself out.

He took a deep breath, and for a moment, he was a child again. A mess of gangly limbs and spectacles and bruises, closing his eyes and wishing he'd left his name in the dust. I was here.

Bruce put the gun to his lips and kissed death.

Bruce slept.

The other guy woke up.

Under the cover of blaring ACDC, Tony felt a crash from upstairs reverberate around his lab.

"Sir," Jarvis began, in his haltingly polite voice. "I regret to inform you that-"

"Hulk's out."

"Indeed, sir. As per your previous instructions, Dr Banner's room has been switched to immediate lockdown."

"Great, great." His mind was a whirlwind of worry. Why is he out? He's safe, Bruce is safe, I made so sure of that. "I'm going up there. Maybe I can calm him down."

"Sir, in my opinion-"

"If I want your opinion, I'll ask for it." He didn't have time to don the suit. Every second that Hulk was fighting his way out spelt worse consequences for Bruce in the long run. "Put the floor on lockdown, hell, the whole tower. But not before I get in there, understood?"

His AI paused.

"Understood, sir."

Tony could see no immediate damage on Bruce's floor. The rebuild of Stark Tower had included plans to reinforce this floor with the strongest metals he could get his hands on, and he'd pushed it right to the front of the to-do list. But with every step he took, he could feel the Hulk's roars vibrate through him. They weren't roars of rage. They sounded more like... pain.

Tony wasn't sure how to comfort a big green rage monster.

Slowly, he opened the door, and stood right on the threshold. He tried to make himself look as unthreatening as possible, softening his stance, his voice.

"Hey there, big guy."

The Hulk turned to look at him and Tony stiffened. For the first time since hearing the crash, he wished he'd put on the suit. When you spent a decent amount of time with Bruce, it was easy to forget about the beast that lurked within. The sheer size of it. Swallowing, he tried to remind himself that this was his team-mate, the guy who'd caught him in mid-air on the way back from a suicide mission. But the magnitude of it all overwhelmed him, even with the weeks he'd spent with Bruce, learning all about him and the other guy and him and Bruce, it still blew his mind and made him want to run for cover. Tony Stark wouldn't ever say he was the type of guy to back down from a fight, not even one that he couldn't possibly win, but this? This was something else. He searched for some trace of Bruce in the creature's eyes and found nothing.

And then Hulk roared. A cacophonous sound of anger and pain, rich in volume and directed straight at Tony. His entire body told him to run but his feet wouldn't move and his mind would not stop racing. What caused this?

Daring to look away from the living embodiment of rage in front of him, he snuck a quick glance around Bruce's room. It was completely destroyed, with broken glass on the floor, books strewn around everywhere, some with the pages still fluttering, but the bed was still intact, like he hadn't gone near it. The sheets were twisted. Tony had a flash of epiphany- it was dark out, (shit, was it? How long had he been in the lab?)Bruce must have been asleep. Tony had had enough nightmares in his life to recognise what the aftermath looked like, even if this was a little more dramatic than he was used to. Now, he looked at Hulk properly. Pull yourself together. You're tip-toeing, Stark. You need to strut. Was it all just talk? The creature was pacing, growling, almost quivering with pent-up aggression. Bruce had told him once that the Hulk came out when Bruce needed protection. Hulk was trying to fight something he couldn't see.

"Hulk," he tried again, holding his hands up in surrender. "Listen to me." Hulk had saved him, had followed Capsicle's commands, this couldn't be too difficult a request. "Bruce was scared, right?"

Hulk emitted a low growl that made the hairs on the back of Tony's neck stand up. You came this far.

"Bruce was scared and you came out to protect him. But you can't, not from this. You can't smash the nightmares away."

Or on second thought, maybe saying the word "smash" wasn't the best idea you've ever had.

The room shook. The room actually fucking shook, and if Tony's feet couldn't move before, it sure as hell wasn't a problem now as they were falling out from underneath him as Hulk roared once more and a green hand swept him aside. Tony slammed into the wall and was vaguely aware of blood trickling down his neck before the pounding in his head got too loud- or was that Hulk's stamping? It made no difference. Tony's eyes fluttered and he slipped away, slumping to the floor.

When he woke, the scene had changed from Bruce's war-torn bedroom to the crisp white hues of the Stark tower medical bay. His head felt like someone had stomped on it, and he was feeling generally sore all over, but... well, he'd had worse. And the big guy could have done worse if he'd wanted, surely. Pepper was there, of course, thank god, and it seemed to be early morning.

"I know you're awake," she said simply, not even looking up from her tablet. Her silver polished fingernails danced over the surface.

"Are you still angry at me? Actually, are you ever not angry at me? What did I do this time?"

She threw him a cold, furious glance, before returning to her work. "Aside from locking yourself in a room with a rampaging Hulk, you mean?Without your suit on?"

Oh. "Hey, he wasn't rampaging. He was surprisingly calm. No, not calm, he was scared."

"You could have died!"

"I get that a lot. Where's Bruce?"

Silently, still fuming, she nodded over to the bed in the corner. Sure enough, Bruce lay there, curled up on his side in raggedy trousers, sleeping much more peacefully than he had been earlier. Presumably, anyway.

"He's angry at you too. Well, not angry, as such. Disappointed. And scared, and regretful, and sad..." she sighed. Tony could sense it, how she hated not having control, not being able to fix something. They had that in common. "You know he'll want to leave, right?"

"He can't. The army would seize him in a heartbeat."

"There isn't actually that much damage, it's just his floor. According to Jarvis he transformed back shortly after you got knocked out. But you know what he's like, you know it better than I do."

He frowned. "I want him to stay. I want to figure out what made him lose control, and make it better. Make him feel safe."

"You want to fix him?"

Tony had never been more sure of anything in his life. "Yeah. I just don't know how."