Chapter 105
[Classified Location], Sinaloa Warehouse, Mexico
November 2011
Bruce paced.
It was the only coping mechanism he had that would even kind of work right now. Stress, worry, fear, and anger were all bubbling right beneath the surface of his careful calm. Technically, the anger was always there, but the addition of the others emotions, the danger his teammates were in–it was a dangerous combination.
He didn’t want the other guy to show up and make a mess of things.
He didn’t even know if he could control it again. Practicing was too dangerous. The only time in his life he’d ever had conscious control as the other guy was in New York, and he’d done a hell of a lot of damage even then. And he still didn’t remember everything. The other guy was a separate identity. And the UN was right there.
Bruce was afraid.
The world had already seen the monster, but a controlled monster. He didn’t want them to see it slip its leash.
A grunt came through the comms.
“Code Green!” Tony shouted.
“What?” Bruce asked, startled, spinning toward the cockpit.
The screens showed him a worsened situation: Tony, grounded in the desert by Hydra energy weapons, desperately fending off a pack of guards. Sam in the southwest, holding his own but still tied up. Natasha and Barnes and Maria unconscious or dead in the courtyard. And Steve, fighting but about to lose. Surrounded. Bruce could see what Steve couldn’t.
“Code Green! Code-”
A shot clipped Tony’s helmet. He spun and almost fell, got up and kept fighting, but no more sound came from him. His communications array was down.
Bruce’s heart was thrumming. He felt wired. Almost drunk, but instead of foggy his mind was clearer than before. Slipping into a simpler thought process:
Those were his friends.
They were in danger.
The UN troops were too far out to get here in time.
Someone needed to get Steve, Natasha, Barnes, and Maria out of that compound so JARVIS could blow it up.
“JARVIS,” Bruce said, and his voice came out an octave deeper than usual. “You can target the munitions store? If I get them out?”
“Dr. Banner, am I correct in assuming that you intend to transform?” JARVIS asked.
Bruce took a breath. His eyes, when he glanced at his reflection, were bright radioactive green. “Yes.”
“I can implement Plan F independently of Mr. Stark’s command, yes,” JARVIS said. “I will offer you two minutes.”
“Okay.” Bruce took a deeper breath. Braced himself. “Open the bay door, please. Keep the plane at a hover, don’t let it get blown up, and help Tony as soon as you’ve taken care of the warehouse.”
“Yes, sir,” JARVIS said.
The rear bay door opened.
Bruce sucked in and held his last breath, and jumped out of the plane.
…
…
He landed with a roar.
Little-people-enemies scurried around his ankles.
He bellowed at them and backhanded two of them away. The others screamed. Fired. Their energy-bullet-weapons tickled. He raged around the courtyard. They fell easily. So did their hide-storage-sleeping-buildings. He smashed those, too, if they were in his way. Sometimes even if they weren’t. The buildings belonged to the little-people-enemies.
Harder strikes hit his shoulders. Back. Powerful enough to hurt. He spun around and snarled. Smelled their fear. Ran into the haze of bullets-energy-fire with a hand over his eyes. Broke their ranks.
The fear-smell was stronger now. That pleased him. They started running, shooting over their shoulders. Part of him howled for blood, for the chase and the kill. But he had a goal: protect protect protect running through his head. The people there, in the courtyard. Three of them. And a fourth, struggling to his feet amidst a circle of other little people in the corner. Soon this place would be ash-fire-explosion. He would survive it but the little-people-allies-friends would not. Get them out get them out.
He collected the people on the ground into his arms. They were floppy and limp. It was hard to remember their fragile bones, to not crush them in his grip or damage them against each other. They tangled together. Heads–necks–those were easily breakable. He made sure their break-bone-heads were all tucked in his left elbow, against his chest. Held still.
The fourth collected a circle of metal off the ground and staggered forward. He strode to meet the little man in red-and-blue. Boss. Steve.
Friend-Steve climbed onto his back.
“Hold on,” he grunted, and started to run.
Each stride jostled the people in his arms. Steve-on-his-back flopped. He had a hard time staying on. He slowed down a little, tried to stretch out each stride and be smoother. It seemed to help. But he didn’t slow down too much. He wasn’t sure how far away the little people had to get to survive. So he’d get them as far as he could.
There. Off to the right. Another little person, this one in a carapace of red and gold. Friend-person. Tony. He veered that way. This one, he thought, could fly in his armor, but he was grounded now. The armor was scratched and battered.
He slammed into the little-people-enemies shooting at ally-friend-Tony. They fell before they could turn their weapons on him. The dangerous weapons, bulky and glowing blue-white with power.
“Uh. Bruce? Buddy?” Tony said.
He grabbed Tony in his right hand. Not very gently. The metal-armor-skin could protect the little man’s weak skeleton and there was no time to be careful. Holding the bodies of his allies-teammates-friends, he bolted into the desert.
Steve-friend’s grip began to weaken.
He ducked his body forward to flatten his back a little. Maybe that would help the little man stay aboard. Just a few seconds longe–
Explosion. Large. It hurled him forward. Steve’s grip slid off. He curled himself around the four people in his arms and hands, tucked them into his body-that-would-not-break and turned so his back hit the sand and slid.
They came to a stop. He was unhurt as he knew he would be. He dropped his burden on the ground and roared triumph at the sky. Behind them, fires burned. The buildings were gone. So was the adiction-offrealm-drug-evil they’d come to kill. That was good. That pleased him.
He heard the rumble of vehicles. He spun. Glared into the desert, across the sands. This would be a good place to run, if he were alone. Open, flat, uninterrupted for miles.
The vehicle-war-machines were on the horizon. Motoring for the burning-bad-place. He growled at them. He remembered this. Ross-general-enemy had sent them against him before. There were the sound-dish-weapons that had immobilized him before. Not aimed at him, but in the convoy.
He would break the sound-dish-weapons before they could be used on him.
“Bruce,” someone said behind him.
He turned back. Bruce. That was the name his little-person-shape used. He knew he could let this go. Shrink back to little-person-weak-bones-Bruce.
“Jet,” the woman said. Assassin-spy-red-hair-Natasha-friend. “Get on the jet. They won’t touch you.”
He growled. Looked back at the sound-dish-weapons and the vehicle-war-machines that carried them, accompanied them. If he stayed he would have to break them. Or he could bring little-man-scientist-Bruce back.
“They won’t touch you,” Natasha-friend said, struggling to her feet. She was weak. But alive. Bright-hair-breathing-beating-heart-alive. He’d done that. Saved his allies-teammates-friends. They had trusted him. So he would trust them.
He snorted. Slowed his movements.
“Bruce,” Tony-friend said slowly. Raggedly. He pulled off his face-plate-protection. “Come on, buddy, let’s not start a war with the UN right now.”
War. Yes. Battle-fighting-war. It would be fun. But problematic for his allies-teammates-friends, for little-person-Bruce.
He snorted and closed his eyes.
…
…
Bruce blinked.
He was on the sand, outside the compound. Fractured memories slipped through his head, of fighting and carrying people and explosions rattling the world. He rolled over and sat up.
“Hey,” Natasha said with a grin. She looked–in pain. “Nice to have you back, Doctor.”
“Did I… hurt anyone?” he asked.
Tony clung a metal arm around Bruce’s shoulders and helped him stand. “Nope. Well, the cartel guys, but trust me, I won’t hold it against you. The other guy saved our asses.”
Thank God. Bruce breathed out a shaky exhalation and closed his eyes.
The roar of the jet descending kicked sand up. He squinted at it. “JARVIS?”
“Landing to pick us up,” Tony said. He looked away. “Ugh, the UN finally got their asses in motion. Clint’s critical but hopefully L–uh, our other scary friend got him medical care soon enough.” Tony’s tone was flippant, but Bruce knew him well enough by now to detect the worry underneath.
“You have to deal with them,” Bruce said. “Right?”
“Yeah.” Tony looked closer at him. “You get on the jet, though, you look exhausted.”
“I am exhausted,” Bruce said. He always was after a… after the other guy left. “And hungry.”
“We’ve got protein bars on the plane,” Barnes said. “I also need to get out of sight.”
“All three of you, on board,” Tony said. “Maria?”
“Here.” She’d been on board the plane but stepped out again, face cleaned of blood and dirt. “I was cleaning up. You and I can handle the UN, Stark. What’s the story?”
“Accidentally hit a munitions store,” Tony said. “I took care of it for the forensic teams. Where’s Steve?”
Bruce frowned. “I, uh… Oh. He was… I think riding piggyback when I left the compound. And fell off when the explosion happened.”
They paused and looked around the desert.
“Shit,” Tony muttered. “Maria, I’ve got spare thrusters in the jet, I can grab them and search if–”
“There!” Barnes interrupted, pointing over at a dune.
Sure enough, Steve was walking slowly and painfully toward them.
“I’ll get him,” Barnes said, and took off at a jog.
Maria shut her eyes for a second. “Natasha, Bruce, get on the jet and go pick them up, then go help Sam. Tony and I will deal with the UN. It could be a few hours before we get this cleared up. And someone contact the medical team, get me news on Clint. Also Loki.”
The UN vehicles were only a mile away now.
“Roger that,” Natasha said efficiently, and took Bruce’s weight from Tony. She helped him up the ramp into the jet. He found a spot in the left-side niche, where there was a comfortable seat and a cabinet full of water bottles and Cliff bars, while she settled into the cockpit.
The jet lifted off the ground, slowly.
Bruce leaned his head back and closed his eyes, chewing a huge mouthful of Cliff bar. The energy-dense food would help him recover. Right now, his entire body ached, his stomach growled, his throat was parched, and he really needed sleep.
He found a screen and asked JARVIS to cue up a violin concerto, one of Bruce’s favorite pieces. It would calm his mind and help him sleep after an incident; he’d learned that years before. He let the melody fill his head and chase away all of his thoughts while he chugged three bottles of water and ate another four Cliff bars.
The bench was too narrow, so Bruce wrapped himself in a space blanket and curled up in the fetal position on the floor. Music drifted around his ears, and he fell headlong into a deep sleep.