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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Meg had been trying to hide from her own hallucinations. Hellhounds were no fun, and she really didn't fancy being chewed up by one. Not to mention the fact that Castiel was certain Crowley was here, and Crowley very much wanted to do terrible things to Meg which she'd also rather hide from. And on top of all that, Lucifer was here too. It really wasn't a good week to be Meg.

The paranoia had set in bad, and staying in one place too long left her feeling anxious, as such, she was making her way to a new safe spot to continue her hiding.

Charlie was out of her house, wandering the area again. She wasn't trying to find a way out this time, however. She wasn't even interested in where the fuck the cameras led to.

All she wanted was to keep moving. She had to. Or they'd find her. They always found her and it was always bad and they never learned ever. Ever. Not in a million years would they learn.

Maybe if she found them this time? But, no. That wouldn't teach them either. As she walked, she'd startle at nothing and look around, eyes wide with worry. Occasionally, something'd flicker around her hands before vanishing and she'd keep moving.

Until she saw Bruce. She shifted directions slightly, walking towards the man for a moment. Until it occurred to her that he might be one of them, too.

It wasn't terribly likely, but still.

So, she stayed where she was and simply called out to him.

"Hey, man...have you seen..." Hold on. Something was wrong. "You okay?"

Bruce isn't the only one who wanders. Loki's feet take him on a steady, agitated path, tracing -- what? Ley lines, paths of least resistance, scent trails? Even he isn't certain, but they torment him, these hints, vague tastes of familiar things, these signs and omens. They are in their own way worse than the alternative, worse than the obvious, worse than a more inevitable demise.

Chance is cruel. Hope is a poison. Both echo in the muffled sound of his footsteps on the pavement. His stride is that of a man chasing ghosts.

Perhaps it's more accurate to say that the ghosts chase him. Perhaps they hunt him. Perhaps these tastes of old magics, these distant vibrations, perhaps they're the bait driving him to the snare.

Perhaps, but if so, he's not the only one. That does give him some vague comfort as he wanders, gaze absent as his mind stretches out, searching for the gaps in his own defenses, searching for anything. Reinforcing. Preparing. If what he feels is true, it's only a matter of time now.

"Can't hide from what's in your mind, Banner," he snarls at himself, his hand in a fist. There are nail marks in his palms from where he's been clenching them, either to try to keep control, or as a side effect of nearly losing it. At the moment, it's the latter.

"If you just let me out --"

He stops when he spots movement, and then he stops walking too, eyes wide as he stares at the person. A woman; dark hair, Betty? No, no; she shifts again, and he doesn't recognize her. Or is it a he? With long hair?

"What do you want?"

What was this? Demon-bashing day? Seriously. Meg had been on her best behaviour since she'd arrived at Cape Kore, she'd only terrified a few locals, and she'd been saving them from getting their asses mauled by Hell's very own fighter dogs. So what was with all the hostility flung at her?

She arched a brow. The guy looked like he might be three crayons short of a box. Then again, half the residents of their own little Bog Brother seemed to be taking a ride on the crazy train.

"World Peace and puppies for all," she remarked, one day she would learn not to antagonise people - especially the mentally unhinged ones. Today was not that day. "What do you want?"

The knowledge about potentially being dosed with hallucinogens does...absolutely nothing to calm Laura's panic. It's like the symptoms are following her everywhere, even to this town that seems worlds away from where she's suppose to be, and she can't help but think maybe she's the one who's brought it here and doomed these people. The coughs echoing from rooms in the house are enough to send her on a hunt for somewhere quieter, more peaceful.

Unfortunately on the way to quieter and more peaceful she runs into Bruce.

She only approaches because of the sneeze, he has it too and it's only fair that she does something to help him. She's killed him, essentially, the least she can do is make the process easier for him. Walking up towards him, she folds her arms over her chest and quickly calls out a greeting. Just a simple hi, followed by a hesitant wave, but she quickly drops her hand. He doesn't just looks sick, he looks...scared, and her concern levels jump up another notch.

"Dude, why are you running?"

Veronica had been doing so well at staying indoors and keeping her weight off her foot. She'd been doing better at avoiding Bruce. Sure, there was that time she'd gone to see him and had lost her nerve, leaving behind nothing but a photo that she'd made with the pinhole camera he'd made her, but other than that, she'd successfully avoided him.

She's debated whether it's time to ask him to look at her ankle again, but if she's being honest with herself, she doesn't want him in her house. She doesn't want anyone in her house.

She certainly doesn't want her best friend's murderer, the person who had locked Veronica in a fridge and threatened to kill her, in her house. But when Veronica had gone to get something to eat (which was becoming harder and harder), there he'd been. She'd ran out without another thought.

And only that man, perhaps, could remind her that maybe she can trust Bruce after all. At least in this small matter. He'd been nice enough before he'd been a monster, right?

And true, she only thinks about if he can help her when she sees him, but she still thinks of it. She might not trust him, but he can still help her.

She crosses her arms and stumbled toward him. "Bruce? Um. I know my timing is terrible, but I- I kind of need some help."

The nightmares have been getting worse. Lately, they’ve been bleeding over into wakefulness and sometimes Tony knows that he’s dreaming when it happens and sometimes he doesn’t. Sometimes he comes back to himself huddled in a corner, two seconds away from having a panic attack and ripping the reactor from his chest in horrified confusion. Sometimes he has to stop moving, shut his eyes and clench his fists, and will the images of the Ten Rings and Stane and Vanko away. It doesn’t always work, but he tries anyway.

Sleep becomes harder and harder to come by. He doesn’t trust himself awake, much less asleep, and the less he gets, the stronger the nightmares become. To combat it, he’s taken to drinking again. Today is one of those days.

There isn’t much alcohol left, so he can’t indulge the way he wants to, but he takes out a bottle of whiskey he’d squirreled away in his room before the fight with Bruce and starts drinking. On little sleep, little food, and massive exhaustion, it doesn’t take long before he begins to feel the effects of intoxication working on his body, dampening its response time, numbing his mind, chasing the bleak thoughts and hopeless, helpless visions away.

Why he leaves his room, he’s not entirely certain. He’d been comfortable, but he’d wanted something, and he finds himself staggering into the living room having already forgotten what it is. Seeing Bruce there doesn’t help the process of recollection. Tony squints at him, trying to suss out whether it’s actually him or not.

“Bruce?” He tries to keep the slur from his voice by speaking with deliberation. He’s not entirely successful. “What’re you doing?”

Jubilee wants to believe that is just drug induced hallucinations. She wants to believe that. She's clinging to that with breaking fingernails. But she can't deny the feeling at the back of her neck. The feeling of being followed, of being hunted. She knows that feeling. She's felt it more than once in her life.

Ducking under a branch, she carefully places her feet so as to make as little sound as possible. Jubilee has no delusions that she can't be heard. She knows that the one tracking her can find her.

Hearing a growl up ahead, Jubilee peeks through the brush and sees the man standing there. "Are you okay?" He's not someone she's expecting.

Bruce really ought to be paying more attention to his surroundings, but when he isn't thinking he sees something, the Hulk voice in his mind crowds everything else out. Somehow, he missed this person, and it's only when she speaks that he stops and takes her in. Him in? It's like his mind is so confused, it's trying to sift through possible images, and what his eyes actually see is just one option. She scares him, startles him out of where he'd been, deep in his mind, and now he's frightened and suspicious.

"Fine." He frowns deeply as he says it, concentrating hard on making sure the voice that comes out is his own. Asking him if he's seen anyone -- she could be Blonsky, couldn't she? In disguise. He could do disguise. She could've been sent here by Ross; she could be trying to blow his cover, turn him back in.

"Have I seen who?"

This would be simpler if he could trust what he sees, but he's stuck debating the truth of everything with a semi-murderous, loud voice in his mind that's trying to push Bruce out. Is he close to Hulking out? Usually he has an internal sensor for that, but right now he doesn't even know if he can trust it; his heart isn't racing, which is the first step, and he doesn't feel particularly angry -- mostly he's confused and scared -- but confused and scared can progress to angry in a second.

A vicious part of him thinks that it would be nice to Hulk out; nice for himself, that is. Being in the Hulk's mind isn't quiet, but at least he doesn't have to do anything, to sift through all the various input that's throwing itself at him now.

He spots movement and stops dead in his tracks, and the urge to turn and duck behind the building he just came from is strong, but he stands his ground -- for some reason. Seeing someone else makes it hard for him to move, roots him to the spot.

"Where are you going? What do you want?"

He stops and turns, eyes wide and this side of wild.

"Why do you care?" he snarls, eyeing her suspiciously. Who is it? Who is it? His mind is struggling so hard to identify danger, and he doesn't trust anyone; he can't trust anyone, not when his mind is so frenzied that he's afraid he could sneeze himself into the Hulk. And any of these people could be threats; what if it's a scientist, trying to bring him back? What if the next step is dosing everyone with his blood, making everyone into monsters? Into Blonskys?

Bruce sees someone coming out of the corner of his eye, but he's trying hard to ignore it, like if he wills them away, then they won't be there. But she's there, and talking to him, and he has to stop; he turns slowly, but even going slow doesn't help his mind identify anyone very clearly. A woman, yes. Familiar. Veronica? Veronica who'd been afraid of him, Veronica who doesn't trust him, Veronica who only sees him as a monster.

Anger flares in him, but he closes his eyes and focuses hard so that his voice is his own when he talks.

"What... What do you need?"

Bruce finally makes it to his house, but even there, he doesn't feel safe; he's checking the window, checking to see if he left them out there -- all of them, Blonsky and Ross and the dark shape that he's been hesitating to name, even worse than all the others. He doesn't see anything, and he closes his eyes to try to use that relief to calm some part of his frenzied mind, when he hears someone talking behind him.

Who's in his house with him? Bruce lives alone. For seven years he lived alone, and the month or so that he's been here disappears; he's in Latin America again when he turns around, eyes wide and only partially seeing. His vision's not important now; now what he picks up on is the smell of whiskey and the hint of a slur, and is that accusation in his tone, or is he imagining that? Is he being scolded? Shouldn't look out the window; shouldn't do anything to draw attention to himself.

"Nothing," he stammers, and he lists away from the window, taking an uncertain step forward, which only brings him closer to what he's seeing as his father, and he can start to taste his fear.

"Nothing, Dad. I promise."

Bruce stops and then turns around, becoming increasingly more frantic when he can't see the source of the voice. The people he sees are just that -- people he sees; the only voice he hears is the one that usually haunts him, and so this new manifestation is strange and frightening.

"Where are you?" he snarls, turning in a circle again.

She steps through the brush, showing herself. She'd borrowed a shirt from Logan, so it reached all the way to her knees, making her look younger. It's a ploy she's engaged with Creed before. It works.

"Right here." Jubilee whispers through a choked voice. She knows that Creed will chase her if she runs. The flickers at the corner of her eyes make her flinch. She can't let them... She can't. Because then the screams and the pain and Angelo.

"Look, there's no reason... I know Wolvie's here, but can't you just leave it between the two of you?" Not that reasoning with anyone ever got her anywhere.

Whoever it is, they're playing with him, taunting him, and while normally he'd tell himself to run, now there's too much fear and too much unrest in his mind. He can't control himself like this, can't force himself to deal with his surroundings, which means the self-preservation and repressed desire to protect himself is crawling out and taking over. His shoulders hunch, his breathing becoming more labored; he isn't Hulking out, but the part of Bruce's mind that allowed for the creation of the Hulk is taking control.

And when that defensiveness kicks in, coupled with the teasing in this person's voice, coupled with the antagonization -- Bruce's mind finally settles on an image. It's the one he's been seeing that sparks the most fear in him, and the one he's been least willing to name. His father's here, and this place could do that, couldn't they? Send him his father to finish what he'd always wanted to do.

"To teach you something," he snarls, glaring up at her.

“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.”

Well that was... unexpected. To be fair though, she should've expected it. Her luck was taking her nosedive, so why shouldn't she be threatened by the crazy guy?

Her stomach does a backflip as nervousness creeps through her. What if the crazy guy wasn't a random crazy? What if Crowley had taken a new meatsuit? No, that was impossible... She would be able to tell, wouldn't she? She'd be able to see his true form, right? Then again, Cas said his angel mojo was on the fritz, maybe her powers were skewered too?

Great.

"Sorry, don't fancy going to class today, I'm ditching."

THat wasn't what she wanted to do. She frowns in return, not at all pleased that she startled him. Of course, it could be bullshit. Rainbird had pulled the same 'afraid' act in an effort to befriend her. So now she's just eyeing Bruce with more suspicion than a girl her age should ever give someone.

She doesn't respond for almost a minute, just watching Bruce and looking around her own surroundings. This wasn't... this had to be a trick. Right? A Shop trick? Of course it was.

So she's slow to answer, trying to act as if she's not bothered y any of this, but she is. It's obvious in the agitated way her right leg shakes, as if she's impatient to just start moving again.

"Craggy old man with an eye patch. Long hair. He should be....he shouldn't be here. He's looking for me and he's bad so I gotta..." Wait, why was she telling this guy.

"Never mind. It doesn't matter." A pause. "I keep hearing gunfire but I can't tell where it's coming from. Do you know? I wanna avoid it."

Loki doesn't start at the intrusion but he does flinch, pulled sharply out of what is both a rather private and a rather shameful ritual. The voice is familiar... and unfamiliar all at once, rendering unsettling what would not otherwise be unwelcome.

He could hurry on. Leave. But then if death is on its way...

Loki's footsteps fade. He stills.

“Doctor Banner.” A polite nod of the head. “You need not fear. I'm only walking, and all I want is to continue walking.”

A fine day for it, if the courteous smile is any indication. “Nothing more sinister than that. You're free to join me, in fact, if you wish.”

"You're gonna learn," he says lowly, still sounding feral, and he leans over, preparing to run. "You're never going to hurt me again."

He charges for her then, without much rhyme or reason; he's riding on instinct and fear, which doesn't bring him a lot of coordination, and he's slipping into a groove of a memory he's long repressed. Another time he pushed at his father, another time Bruce was afraid and cornered. His main goal is to try to tackle her, his father, whoever and whatever she represents, so he runs at her with his arms extended.

Gunfire... An old man... No, Bruce hasn't heard any of that, so this is a trick, isn't it? To distract him, to confuse him. He doesn't trust it; he's been lied to, manipulated, plenty of times before, and that's what's happening now. Yes, he's sure of it. He's being manipulated so he won't tell anyone the truth, so he won't let anyone know what really happened to her, what his father really did to his mother. He won't let that happen again. He let his mother down enough with that already.

"You're not going to trick me," he says lowly, and he takes a step closer. "Not again. I'm not a little kid anymore."

That pings something in her, some fight or flight response she's relied on for years. But is it really being pinged or is she just wrong? Everything seems wrong right now. The moment Bruce takes a step forward, Charlie holds her hands up and steps back. The air around her warms some, a bit quicker than would be considered normal.

"What are you doing, man? This isn't a trick." Seriously, she will run hard if she has to.

Loki. He settles on an identity for him easily enough, not too much slippage there, at least not with who Loki is, anyway. Time is a trickier thing; he's only been at the cape for so long, and with his mind churning up so many old memories, it's easier to place himself as a child again, or a man on the run -- or a man on the helicarrier, trying to save people, only to have someone tear him open from the inside and let out what Bruce tries to keep hidden.

There it is, too. Half a second of memory, a flash of sound and noise: slamming Loki into the floor, insult fueling his rage, but not just that. The Hulk has pride, but Loki's manipulation, his arrogance, the way he dismissed people; it all called back a man that haunts the Hulk almost more than he haunts Bruce.

"Puny god," he snarls lowly. "Trying to trick me again."

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

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