Oh, crap. He physically feels Tony's absence, and it hurts, and it's cold, and it leaves Bruce hollowed out and hurting more than anything to do with the Hulk. It's not a good time though; picking at the Hulk is like picking at a wound that's festering and has no hope of healing any time soon, and that's what Tony was doing. That's what Tony keeps doing, has always done, and maybe Bruce should be used to that. He can't let go of the hope that he might one day eventually convince Tony that he's wrong, though. The Hulk is wrong and never should've happened.

He scrubs his hands over his face, trying to rally himself again, and then he's following after him.

"That isn't what I said, Tony. You're the only worthwhile thing in my life." What he may have done to save people in New York seems moot. He ought to save people to make up for what he's done, for what he's brought into the world.

"And maybe he brought us together." He stops and closes his eyes before he opens them again and holds his hands out. "Okay, I can accept that. I can thank him for that. But am I supposed to ever, for one second, feel grateful that I carry him around in me? That if I get pushed hard enough in the wrong direction I can turn into my worst nightmare version of myself?"

By which he means his raw self, his self subjected to its basest needs and wants. Rage and anger, those are some of them; loneliness, that's another, but he doesn't want to attribute that one to the Hulk. It'll make it harder to hate him.