Oooh will you do 21 from the Drabble challenge? It sounds kinda angst, which I like, but it can definitely be whatever you imagine
two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and i — i took the one most angsty,
send me a prompt off of this list :)
“I’m bulletproof…but please, don’t shoot me.”
Bruce’s skin was rather vulnerable to the whims of sharp steel, or thorns, or whatever object that chooses to cleave through it. It was quite the contrast to the Hulk’s epidermis, which could weather a nuclear bomb explosion and emerge only with second-degree burns.
Bruce supposed he’s a bit jealous of Hulk, in that regard. Mostly because it was he that had to endure the sharp steel, or thorns, or whatever object that chose to cleave through his flesh, and not the Hulk. Because puny, 90-pound Banner was much easier to restrain than Hulk, much easier to sedate, much easier to tie down and cut open.
And much easier to shoot with a pistol; something black and small, trembling in slender ivory hands that had intertwined so well in his.
“Betty,” he pleaded, voice soft and gentle, like how one speaks when taming a wild animal. She had been struck with a beam that had made her hysterical, paranoid. And when someone is paranoid, the last one they would trust is the person notorious for being two-faced.
Hence, the gun. The muzzle glared at him; a single eye dark as jet, housing fire and smoke and steel, steel that would puncture his skin like how a diver pierces the membrane caused by surface tension in water.
Bruce wasn’t bulletproof, but the Hulk was. And despite how much Bruce protested the idea, they were one and the same. The Hulk was born from the tortured cocktail of hormones in his brain. Like how Zeus birthed Athena, Bruce birthed Hulk. And they were the same. Except one had skin as hard as diamond and as green as emeralds.
“Betty,” his arms were outstretched in a placating gesture, palms exposed and fingers splayed open. She was trembling, and Bruce knew it wasn’t from the weight of the gun in her hand; Ross had raised her too well for that. It was most likely fear that caused her figure to shake so, and Bruce nearly broke when he realized it.
Betty hadn’t been afraid of him in so long.
“You’re going to hurt me,” She says, and Bruce has never seen her so wild with fright. “You’re going to kill me, Dad was right, I can’t trust you, you’re dangerous—“
“Betty,” he said desperately, “Betty, you’re delirious—that thing you were hit with, it messed with your mind—“ He began taking small steps forward, aiming to disarm her.
“And what have you been doing all this time!?” She yells, cheeks flushed and eyes crazed.
The eye of the muzzle never blinks, though. The pistol was the one thing steady about her. The way she held it, strong and sure. Aimed at his heart. He feels almost sickened by the symbolism of that.
“I…” He doesn’t know how to answer. Another step.
“You’ve always been messing with me, haven’t you? Even when I followed you around like a lovesick puppy, you’ve just been manipulating me. You’re going to kill me, Doctor Banner, you’re going to kill me!”
Bruce wonders if she means what she says. Bruce wonders if she should mean what she says.
“Betty, I’m not, I wouldn’t,” He wouldn’t be like Dad.
His legs tremble like Betty is right now, but he still takes a step.
He didn’t. “I don’t.” He couldn’t lie to her. “But you’re not well, you were shot with something—“
“Something that made me see the truth,” Betty spat, words like venom in his bloodstream, hurt and betrayal sweeping across his body in swathes.
It isn’t her fault though, he knows. It’s his.
“Let’s just, let’s just talk this out, okay?” Another step closer, he could almost knock the gun out of her hands…
The eye blinked. Black became orange in a blinding display of fireworks. Orange yellow and red.
Red. Bruce could hear the bullet rattle on the ground somewhere behind him, no doubt trailing scarlet as it rolled.
He was bulletproof, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t get shot.