kore_logs | if you could only see the beast you've made of me

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if you could only see the beast you've made of me

Who: Crazy Bruce Banner, YOU!, and whoever he's hallucinating.
What: Bruce stumbling around town, hiding from his hallucinations, with occasional moments of lucidity.
Where: Around town.
When: Various points on Day 37. I'll work out timeline stuff, you just tag in and let the fun/terribleness roll.
Warnings: Child abuse and father issues for father-related hallucinations. Violence and attacking people, including a few women. See here for more information.

Bruce twists his head around so fast to check what he thinks he sees in the corner of his eye, that he trips and stumbles forward, landing on his hands and knees. There's no one there -- not Blonsky, and not his father, either -- but he doesn't feel any less attacked. His head hurts, pounding at the temples, from the noise in his own mind. His voice, the Hulk's voice, the pressure of the drugs; it all swirls around until Bruce isn't sure of anything he's seeing.

He's not sure of himself, either, but he hasn't been sure of himself for a long time. His eyes, at least, he's had an okay relationship with, up until now.

In some part of his mind, he knows he's seeing things, but the fear and the panic take over, and the urge to run, to hide becomes too much to fight. It's coming over him again even now, and he pushes himself to his feet to stumble forward again, slowly gaining his balance until he's half walking, half running.

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“What?” Tony frowns, staring at Bruce in muddled confusion. “What’re you talking about?”

He knows that he’s drunk. He’s been drinking too much not to be drunk. And he’s familiar enough with it to know that sometimes, it impairs not judgment, but his senses. It’s possible that what he heard wasn’t actually Bruce calling him Dad, but for the life of him, he can’t think of another word that it could have been.

Just to be safe, he glances over his shoulder, verifying that there’s no one behind him. There isn’t, though the motion makes him lurch to the side before he regains his balance. When he turns back to face him, Tony moves a little more slowly.

“M’not your dad, Bruce. S’me. Tony.”

Bruce doesn't hear anything Tony really says; he hears the slurring, and his mind translates that into something else, fits it in with the movie playing out in his mind. Usually when he thinks of his father, he feels younger, so much younger, and small and helpless to do anything. Something about this one is different; he feels different, stronger, and all on his own too. The Hulk voice in his mind is quiet.

What Bruce hears is: I told you I'd come back for you, Bruce.

"Please. Don't do this. The doctors said you were doing better."

“Do what? I’m not doing…” He trails off as memories of Steve’s hallucinations swim up through the sea of liquor currently pickling his brain. “Oh.”

It says something unflattering, no doubt, that everyone keeps confusing him for fathers. His own makes sense. Howard had been taller and slimmer than Tony at this age, but he knows that they look similar. It’s the hair and the eyes, and though he doesn’t like to admit it, the facial hair. But Bruce’s father? He looks like him, too?

“No, no I’m not your dad. Bruce.” Tony takes a step forward, lifting a hand in a gesture of harmlessness. “It’s Tony. Tony Stark. Not… Not Banner. Tony.”

Tony doesn't look like his father, but the drugs make sure that doesn't matter. It's the smell of the alcohol, the way his words run together, coupled with how Bruce had spent the whole way here running from what he thought was his father following him. Now that he's here, it makes sense; scary movies are like that, aren't they? The bad guy always gets to wherever you're going before you get there. And what's his father if not the villain from a scary movie?

Something about what his father's saying makes the movie skip in his brain, and he stares hard at him, trying to figure out what he just heard. It doesn't make sense though, not to his confused mind.

"No, you're -- you're not going to control me like you did before. I won't let you this time. Things are different now."

He steps closer, his frame tensing, eyes narrowing.

Edited 2013-02-04 05:13 (UTC)

It would almost be funny, if he wasn’t drunk and he didn’t have the feeling that Bruce was scared, like any second now, everything was going to break and something awful would happen. The tension creeps up on him, uncomfortable anxiety settling like lead in his stomach, as Bruce starts talking about something that, to Tony’s ears, makes no sense.

He’s reminded of horror movies, of watching a lone individual cautiously walking down the basement stairs, armed only with a candle to confront the monster. The problem is, the monster lurking in the shadows waiting for Bruce isn’t actually here, and Tony doesn’t know how to communicate that. Maybe if his mind wasn’t muddled, he’d know. But it is and he doesn’t.

“I’m not trying to control you. Honest. Bruce, buddy, it’s me.” He’s not scared of Bruce, he realizes as Bruce takes a step closer. He’s scared for him. Because whatever he’s fighting, Tony can’t see it to help him. “Look.”

He moves closer, stretching out his hand. Talking isn’t working. Seeing him isn’t working. Maybe if he touches him, it will snap him out of it. “Your dad’s not here, Bruce. It’s just us. Just you and me.”

Not for the first time today, Bruce slides into a memory that he hasn't touched in a long time and can't begin to identify; he knows it but he doesn't, and he instinctually shies away from pushing at it too hard, letting it instead creep in around him until it blocks out everything else. Nighttime, the smell of grass and rotting flowers, and the acrid taste of fear, and someone coming at him. Not just someone; his father, reaching for him, there to do what he'd always wanted to do.

Lashing out, but really his body's following a path he'd taken long ago, he smacks Tony's hand away and then pushes him hard, trying to propel him backwards, trying to topple him over.

He doesn’t have much time to react, and even if he did, his alcohol-soaked system would take too long to do it. No sooner than his hand falls away from Bruce, he’s staggering backwards, trying to reclaim the balance that he’s suddenly without. It takes half a second for his lagging brain to catch up with reality.

Bruce pushed him.

The realization comes at about the moment his body gives up the struggle and goes down. He lands hard on his lower back, one elbow banging against the floor. It’s enough to make him hiss in pain, and that pain’s enough to fill his voice with irritation.

“Jesus Christ, Bruce. So not called for.” He starts to get up, pulling himself together as he speaks. “What’s the matter?”

Bruce stands stock still as he watches Tony fall, paralyzed and breathing hard, until he the tension melts and his eyes glaze over. That's it; the movie in his mind cuts out and then there's static, white noise trying to drown out what just happened, or an inability to process it, or all of the above. It takes his mind a few seconds for the gears to adjust and reverse, and Bruce blinks slowly as he comes back into himself.

Tony's on the floor. How did that happen? How'd he even get here?

"Um." He gathers enough sense of mind to offer to help Tony up, and as he tries to fill in the gap in his mind, it just seems to get pulled away from him, like it's something he shouldn't want to see.

"I'm not..." He trails off and turns his attention to Tony instead. That's more comfortable right now than his own mind. "Are you hurt? Did I do that?"

On the bright side, this bizarre situation is helping to sober him up faster than time, some coffee, and a shower would. Of course, the bad part of all of this is that it seems like they’re – and since he’s caught himself talking to JARVIS, Tony’s lumping himself in there too – going crazy.

“Uh…” He squints at Bruce, waiting for the punchline that never comes, before he takes the help and gets the rest of the way to his feet. “I don’t…” Glancing around, he goes through the motions of brushing himself off. He isn’t dirty, but he’s rattled, and in the absence of anything else to do, he sets about occupying his hands. “…know. I think I had too much to drink. It’s…”

He shakes his head. “It’s okay. I’m fine. Got a little brush-burn on my arm from the carpet, maybe, but otherwise I’m fine.” His own well-being is the least of Tony’s concerns. “Are you okay?”

He shakes his head, frowning in confusion again as he tries to figure out what he is. He has vague recollections of things -- flashes of anger, of people and pain -- that leave him unsettled, but he can't identify any of them.

"I don't know. I... blacked out? Or have been blacking out, or... Can we sit?" He needs to sit down before he topples over; exhaustion's creeping over him now, and he wonders how long he's been out of it. Before he moves away, he gives Tony's arm a gentle squeeze and a tug. He's not really sure of much, but he is sure that he needs someone to help him... stay put.

"Sherlock," he blurts, excited for one bit of concrete information. There's one memory for him, safe because it's from the other day. "He said we were drugged. Something in the air."

“Yeah.” Nodding, he gives him a fleeting smile and lays a hand on his back. “I think we can definitely sit. Sitting is good. Come on.”

Bruce probably doesn’t need him to guide him to the chair – if he’s sick, Tony thinks that he deserves to have the Comfortable Chair – but he does it anyway. If he’s blacking out, Tony doesn’t want him falling down, and while he may be drunk, he figures that he’s better than nothing when it comes to support.

Forehead wrinkling, he slants an uncertain glance his way. “Drugs in the air? Really? How does he know?”

"He said it's happened to him before. Hallucinogens, aerosol dispersal." It's true that he doesn't really need help getting to the chair, but he does need the hand on his back. Touch helps ground him and pull him back in from the rage even when he isn't hopped up on drugs.

Now that his mind's calmed down, details are filtering in, and he frowns over at Tony, narrowing his eyes.

"Have you been... talking to JARVIS?" He very well could have been imagining that, even if he can't yet figure out anything else he was imagining.

Though he sits in the chair, he wishes he didn't have to lose contact with Tony. He's just not sure how to ask for that when he maybe just knocked Tony onto the floor.

He doesn’t have to ask. Intoxicated as he is, Tony isn’t capable of making the insightful conclusion that maybe he should remain in contact with Bruce now that he’s gotten past the violent outburst barrier. He just knows that he’s wobbly on his feet despite his manful attempt at pulling himself together and he doesn’t want to walk all the way over to the couch. When Bruce sits, he waits half a minute for him to get settled, then plops down on the edge of the chair beside him like it’s no big deal. It’s a big chair. There’s room.

“Sometimes,” he responds then, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his hand. “It’s—I don’t know. Sleep deprivation? Wishful thinking? Drugs in the water or air or whatever your friend said? Something. He’s here or I’m there.”

And at the time it’s happening, he doesn’t realize that there’s anything amiss. That’s the part that scares him. That makes him think he’s coming unhinged. “It’s kind of… disturbing.”

Oh, thank God. He scoots over to give Tony more room, and then also maneuvers so that he's touching him as much as possible, leg against Tony's and his hand against his back, which he starts to move when Tony starts rubbing at his eyes, rubbing in a slow, small circle.

"Kind of?" he says with a snort, but it's soft, meant to poke fun at something that really is terrifying. "It's drugs. It has to be. How long has this been going on even? When I try to think back, it's like the past few days have been some kind of... really bad dream. Was I talking to the Hulk out loud, or was it all in my head? I couldn't even tell you."

Bruce’s touch is comforting, in a subtle, unconscious way that Tony doesn’t notice and likely never will unless it’s brought to his attention. He leans into the hand on his back, and by doing so, into Bruce’s side as well.

“I don’t know. I didn’t notice I was doing it until Steve called me on it.” Which had been slightly embarrassing but largely better than continuing to be called Howard. “Even after that, I wasn’t always aware that I was doing it. Or at it was screwed up.”

He doesn’t know how to answer Bruce’s question. For all he knows, he’d thought the sound of his voice, if he’d heard it, was JARVIS. Glancing over, he touches Bruce’s knee. “How’s that going? You and him, with all of this. Are you okay?”

The touch to his knee draws him out of his thoughts, puzzling out the way the hallucinations had taken control of both him and Tony; he lifts his eyes and gives a slight smile.

"Surprisingly well. With the way I've been... It seems like he would've made an appearance by now, but so far nothing. I mean, I'm going nuts for periods at a time, but I'm pretty sure he hasn't shown up. Best guess is it has something to do with the drugs, keeping him back for longer. But you know, I think I'd rather have him."

He breathes, and it's an actually relaxing breath, not one that he takes in an effort to regulate his body. He shifts closer to Tony and lets his eyes fall shut.

"How long do you think this will last for? I'd say we should make plans, but this is the stillest my mind has been in what feels like forever."

“I haven’t seen him.” Not that he’s been monitoring Bruce’s comings and goings. He hasn’t been. He can barely keep track of his own, much less that of someone else. But what he has seen of Bruce has been Bruce. Not the Hulk. Of him, there’s been no sign that Tony’s seen, and generally speaking, he leaves pretty huge signs in his wake.

“I haven’t heard anyone talking seeing him, either, and I’d think a crazy, hallucinating green giant would draw some attention. I mean, that’s just me.”

He glances at him out of the corner of his eye, but he doesn’t shift away or tense at the proximity. He simply relaxes back into the chair and tries to remember that JARVIS and his equipment is back in his world, not across the room.

“I don’t know. I don’t really understand the point of all this. Keep us captive and then drive us nuts? It doesn’t seem rational. Or like it’s something that can be sustained indefinitely.”

"Sure, it's rational. We're rats, Tony. Rats in a lab, and they're making us run our mazes. I've been in enough labs, on both sides pf the equation, to know what it feels like." He doesn't open his eyes to say it, and even if his voice turns bitter and hard, he doesn't tense up. Like he said, this isn't that new to him. What upsets him is that he's finally fallen into one, and he can't find his way out of it.

"Or prisoners, maybe. Maybe all this -- the drugs, the stuff during Maybe Christmas -- is our captors amusing themselves while they babysit, but I don't think so. We've seen scientists because we're some kind of experiment."

"So then what? They're aliens? Like, more-alien-than-Thor-and-Loki aliens?" It's the only explanation that makes even a lick of sense. Humans, even those of a scientific bent, ought to already know how other humans react to these kinds of stimuli. They'd be wasting their time, not learning anything new. But aliens, something that isn't remotely human and doesn't act like it, could be the answer.

Not a pleasant answer. But an answer nonetheless.

"I'm not sure I believe it. I mean, I haven't even been probed yet. Not that I want to be. Just, you know, when I think aliens, that's kind of where my mind automatically goes." It's a little less serious than the situation calls for, but with circumstances being what they are, humor is really all he has left.

His mind didn't go to aliens at all, though he can see how it would be a good and perfectly plausible option. Bruce doesn't think this kind of experimentation is outside the realm of human thought though.

"Maybe," he says, nodding. "Could be aliens. That would explain the technology they must be using to bring us here, people from different dimensions. All different kinds of people." He shakes his head slightly and opens his eyes.

"Could still be people though. Maybe what they just did to us was a new drug they invented. And a lot of people here aren't exactly uninteresting to a scientist's mind. Me, you, the people here who aren't quite human." He takes a breath and leans his head back against the chair.

"At this point, I'd buy either alien or human. But regardless, we're in someone's petri dish."

“Okay, so we break the dish.”

It’s easier said than done. He recognizes that, knows that they’ve already tried to get out and failed more than once. But sitting back and accepting it isn’t in the cards. Not for him. He doesn’t do captivity well, and he thinks that neither does Bruce. Or the Hulk.

“We just need to figure out how. The forest method isn’t working. Every time we try it, we just get pushed back. Either it really is the way out, or it’s just a distraction. A diversion to keep us occupied so we think it’s the way out and ignore the real one.”

Lifting a hand, he rubs at his eyes. He doesn’t need incentive to be paranoid. He’s paranoid enough as it is. “What do you think? You’ve been here longer. You’ve been… out of the town. Your judgment’s a little clearer than mine. More informed.”

Bruce is paranoid too, and he's on board with wanting to get out of here. He's had a lot of other things to distract him, but being pummeled with hallucinogens is really emphasizing the limits of their cage. Before he'd been hesitant about pushing to find a way out without much information, and he still thinks that isn't very wise, but they definitely have to try something.

"Honestly, I couldn't tell you much. Before you got here, it was just more of the same, only with more food. We all woke up in the center of town together. As for me being outside..." He sucks in a breath and lets it out slowly. Not a fun memory either.

"They dropped the Hulk off near the woods. Maybe that's a clue. Maybe there is something that way, and we haven't been able to get through to it."

Being driven half out of his mind by hallucinogenic toxins probably isn’t the best time to try to formulate an escape plan, but none of the plans they’d made – half-assed as they’d admittedly been – when they’d been wholly sane had worked. Maybe the crazy plan would have more chance of success.

He’s opening his mouth to make a suggestion that he wouldn’t make if it weren’t for the desperation of their situation when he remembers that there are cameras watching them. Not cameras hooked to JARVIS, as he’s been thinking more and more often of late. But cameras that presumably transmit their conversations and actions back to the enemy. So he changes course of action, leaning over and twisting around until his mouth is pressed against Bruce’s ear.

“What if we burn it down?” he whispers, keeping his voice as low and quiet as possible, yet still audible enough for Bruce to pick up on it. “Can’t hide weapons in a forest when there isn’t anything there.”

Oh, suddenly Tony's talking against his ear, and Bruce has to suppress a shiver just for the proximity and the vibration traveling down his neck. He tries to appear as casual as possible, catching on quick to what Tony's doing and why. No, when everyone's crazy and paranoid, it probably isn't a good time to launch an escape attempt, but still, the idea seems really good to him right now.

Ducking his head, he sets his mouth near Tony's ear so he can whisper back.

"We'd need a way to control it; we don't want to burn the whole village down."

At this rate, it’s going to be a very short-lived escape plan conversation. Whispering in Bruce’s ear didn’t strike him as particularly distracting, but Bruce whispering in his ear is another story entirely. Especially when they’re sitting like this, pressed against each other on a chair that seemed big enough initially and now just isn’t.

“Um…” Burning down the town is bad, right? Didn’t he tell someone else that not so long ago? “No, you’re right. You’re definitely—We don’t want to burn down the town.”

Trying to kick start his brain, Tony licks his lips, only to realize belatedly that that just means he licks the edge of Bruce’s ear, too. That’s not helping the distraction at all. “So we, I don’t know, make a perimeter. Prevent the fire from reaching it.”

if you could only see the beast you've made of me

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