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Bruce has had a very long, very tiring, very upsetting day. The thing is, he hasn’t even done anything wrong, the reason his day is so terrible doesn’t even technically have anything to do with him, he just…
Well. He’s supposed to be a hero, to save the innocent people of the world from danger. And sure, he’s an Avenger, and the Avengers are kind of the big guns. They’re pulled out to fight aliens, robots and wizards--all kinds of freaky, global-catastrophe type dangerous stuff! They’re not there for everyday things, he supposes, not there to break up fights between civilians or stop petty crime. And besides, he’s the Hulk! Hulk is a last-resort kind of thing, he’s destructive and unruly and unsafe; he can beat up big monsters just fine, but he can’t exactly help the little people.
Bruce wishes they could’ve helped the little people today.
Because a lot of civilians died today. It was unexpected and tragic, and though it’s far from the highest death-toll the world has ever seen, it’s still too many. Too many lives taken. And by just some random person, too, not a threat that Bruce could’ve ever prepared for, nothing he could have predicted in time to save all those people. It happened very far away from him as well, there was nothing he could have ever done to help. And that sucks, and there’s nothing he can do about it, nothing he could do, it’s too late now and people are dead and it’s not his fault but he just--
He feels like shit.
Bruce pulls his glasses from his head and digs his knuckles into his eyes, rubbing them as they sting. It’s cold in his lab, and the loneliness of it all just makes him feel worse.
He abruptly realises that he wants somebody to comfort him.
Which is weird, because he’s Bruce Banner, the Hulk, he’s dangerous, and for years he’s never really… had anybody to comfort him? Nobody to talk to about the innumerable issues he has, no close friends or family to provide support or help him through his bouts of anxiety, or self-hatred, or guilt. He could swear he’s almost forgotten what being comforted even feels like. Except some deep part of him, something instinctual and ingrained so deep he’ll never be able to scrape out out, longs for another person to be close to, for someone to be there for him, for somebody too--
To what? Hold him? Hug him? Tell him everything is going to be okay?
Can he even have that? And who would that someone even be? Sure, Bruce can admit that nowadays he has more friends than he has since the gamma radiation incident, but is there anyone he’s particularly close to? Tony, maybe, but as normal and somehow at ease as the eccentric other man can make him feel, they’ve never been close enough to even touch beyond jokingly poking each other or a patting of the shoulder. Steve? Ha. Natasha? No, not anymore, never again, if he’s honest with himself. That ship sailed a long time ago. Thor?
Well, actually, now that Bruce thinks about it, he and Thor have gotten pretty close since the whole saving-each-other-from-evil-and-gallivanting-through-space-together thing. After all, Bruce was the only one around who knew everything Thor had been through in a short amount of time, who’d witnessed just how much the god had lost and seen how much his life had changed in such a short amount of time. And Thor was the one that saved him from being stuck as Hulk as a gladiator on an alien planet for the rest of his life, who returned Bruce to Earth. He’s the only one who somehow managed to befriend both Bruce and the Hulk. Before Brunnhilde and Thor, Bruce hadn’t even been sure that Hulk had the capacity to make true friends, and he himself certainly hadn’t trusted anybody so fully for a long time.
He supposes that there’s certain things you go through together that mean you can’t avoid becoming friends, though. Like comforting each other after destroying one’s ancient home planet and evil sister, and guiding one through waking up disoriented and two years out of time on an alien planet designed to stress one out, and being stuck on a spaceship together travelling through the universe for weeks afterwards. So, yeah, Bruce supposes that Thor is his friend. The closest friend he has. Bruce likes Thor a lot, actually, which is kind of surprising because although they’ve always been amicable, a few years ago Banner would have never dreamed of being this close with Thor, blonde prince of Asgard and God of Thunder.
Thor is actually really nice, though. Bruce would almost go so far as to call him the kindest avenger, just from what he’s seen since Sakaar. He’s watched Thor interact with all the remaining Asgardians with the utmost care and respect after Asgard was destroyed, saw how he genuinely listened to their problems and interacted with them devotedly as he figured out how to properly lead them. Many times Bruce and Thor had sat together when everyone else was asleep and stared at the vast expanse of space as Thor hesitantly unloaded his worries about being king, and Bruce heard how important this was to him, how vital it was that Thor made a good king and a good person, who treated everyone right and fairly. It had made him smile even as Thor fretted, because staring at the trillions of glowing stars Bruce had more than once realised how gigantic the universe was, and how great a person Thor managed to be despite having seen corners of the galaxy Bruce could never dream of. And then, after Hela and Thanos, he’d seen Thor cry over losing his family and cry over regaining them, he’d watched as Thor tenderly helped his people rebuild and witnessed Thor’s mind race as he figured out the best solutions to any problem somebody came to him with.
That’s another thing, too: Thor is, like, really smart? He’s headstrong, impulsive and reckless, sure, but he’s intelligent. Bruce knew he was smart beforehand, of course; he’d listened to Thor chip into the discussions and plans of the Avengers back when they were more of a close-knit team, had known that the god had a strategic mind and thousands of years of knowledge, but until recently he hadn’t fully realised what that meant. The realisation that he could have long, in-depth conversations about science, astronomy, astrophysics, history, language and any other number of subjects with Thor, who would not only comprehend what he was saying but be able to reply and enthusiastically carry the discussion in full, was a delightful one. Thor just knew so much, he was able to keep up with Bruce completely and even add to his knowledge, and sometimes Bruce was sharply reminded that Thor was, for all intents and purposes, ancient. He probably knew more things than Bruce could ever hope to remember. Thor was always so amiable about it though, casually talking about complex subjects with full understanding of them and Bruce could barely believe that they’d never discussed things like this before, couldn’t figure out why Thor had never engaged in conversation with them like this a few years ago. Maybe they all had preconceptions about him, because of the stilted way he used to speak or look or whatever. He doesn’t know, but it’s nice now. Thor is kind, and he’s smart, and he’s so powerful, and he’s Bruce’s friend. Bruce knows that logically Thor would never turn him away, that he’s always going to be friendly enough to listen to Bruce’s troubles, or comfort him if that’s what Bruce needs.
Bruce kinda really needs that right now.
He looks around his pristine lab, his cold and calculating and empty, empty lab, and his mind is already made up. Pride, embarrassment or weakness be damned, suddenly all he can think about is going to Thor and just… being around him, sitting with him and calming down in his presence. So he robotically packs up his supplies and takes off his coat, before leaving the lab and walking to where he knows Thor’s room is. He reaches the door quick enough, hands fidgeting with a creeping anxiety that he tries to ignore, and knocks on it before he can second-guess himself too much.
“Come in,” a familiar, muffled voice calls from inside, and something in Bruce’s chest immediately loosens just at hearing it. He opens the door. Thor is inside, sitting on his bed and wearing that soft khaki jacket he’s apparently become attached to since returning to Earth. Thor looks up, and his expression immediately softens when he sees Bruce standing in the doorway, a warm smile pushing at his lips.
“Banner!” Thor calls jovially. “How are you, my friend?” Bruce smiles weakly at him.
“I’m fine,” he says, then winces at the automatic response. Damn it. “Can I come in?”
“Of course!” Bruce steps into the room and closes the door gently behind him, and suddenly realises that he doesn’t have a plan from here. What’s he going to do, suddenly start to rant about all his problems? His main problem doesn’t even have anything to do with him, he’s just upset, so how is he supposed to justify that? Or is he meant to just play it all off and pretend he just wants to, like, hang out with Thor as usual, and hope that acting okay makes everything magically better? He dimly sees Thor’s smile fade and his gaze sharpen, flickering down to where Bruce is anxiously tapping his knuckles together, sleeves tugged further down his hands, and then back up to his stressed, vacant expression. Bruce can feel the ol’ panic bubbling in his chest again, which is stupid because there’s no reason for it to be there, but whatever, his mind is racing so fast he can barely hold onto a thought.
“Bruce?” Thor asks, voice softer now. “Is everything alright?”
Bruce kind of can’t stop staring at Thor’s green jacket. He knows it’s soft, because he’s picked it up before when Thor left it lying around, and it’s unzipped so Bruce can see the white shirt Thor is wearing underneath, and it looks really warm. Thor looks warm. He looks cosy, and comfortable, and safe. Bruce wants to snap himself out of the line of thought, but it’s the truth: he really, really wants to hug Thor right now. Christ, he can’t actually remember the last time he hugged anybody. How sad is that?
“Bruce,” Thor repeats. He sounds worried now, like he’s about to stand up and check if Bruce is injured. Bruce swallows and looks at his face.
“Yeah,” he says, but it’s more like a whisper, his voice strained. He clears his throat, but he can’t stop moving his hands. “Yeah, sorry. Hi.”
“Hi,” Thor says, and smiles cautiously. “Are you feeling okay, Banner? You look… Pale.”
“I, uh... “ Bruce sighs shakily. “No. Not really? Everything just feels bad right now. Sorry if I’m bothering you, but I thought--I thought--ugh, I don’t know what I thought,” he struggles, then sighs in defeat, clenching his fists. Thor watches him carefully, but his expression is open and kind.
“That’s alright, Banner, we all have bad days. Especially with all the things that have happened lately, I think you’ve almost earned a bad day,” he jokes quietly. Bruce releases a puff of air that could almost be interpreted as a laugh.
“Do you have bad days?” he asks, still hovering by the doorway.
“Of course.” Thor’s answer is immediate and honest. He’s still sitting on the bed.
“Oh.” Bruce’s voice feels like it’s redundant and echoing. “How do you deal with them?” He desperately needs to know. But Thor just stares at him, blinking sedately, taking in Bruce’s nervous posture, anxious movement and strained voice, and then slowly raises his arms.
He moves like Bruce is a skittish animal, one who’ll run off at the sign of any sudden movement, but Bruce almost appreciates it because at this point, he feels like he just might. For a minute he’s not sure what Thor is doing, but the blonde man just waits patiently with his arms outstretched until it clicks.
“Oh,” Bruce repeats dumbly. Thor is offering a hug. This is… God, that is exactly what Bruce wants, but he doesn’t know how to accept it. His mind is still going a mile-a-minute, but apparently those deep down instincts take over as soon as the offer for a hug registers because his feet take a lurching step forward before Bruce can stop himself. But Thor smiles at him, small and soft and encouraging, and that tight knot in Bruce’s chest unwinds just the tiniest bit more. Maybe it is okay for him to just walk over there and let himself be comforted. Maybe it really is that easy.
So he does.
He doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t speak. He just shuffles across the room to where Thor sits on the bed, and though he’d like to say he hugs him with some kind of dignity, that’d be a lie. It’s like all the strength just disappears from Bruce’s body and he kinds of falls limply into Thor’s open arms. It’s a little awkward, because he’s not entirely on the bed, but his head rests near Thor’s collarbone, just below his shoulder as if it was made to fit there, and Thor’s arms immediately curl around him and bracket him in. He was right. Thor is so warm. Bruce might let out a pleased noise, he’s not really sure, but the horrible feeling in his chest is immediately starting to ebb, and it feels so good to finally be able to relax slightly. He feels Thor move backwards a little, until his back is resting against the wall and he can hold them both upright, and everything is suddenly far more comfortable. Thor is a lot bigger than Bruce is, so Bruce just kind of curls up again him, arms wrapping around Thor’s waist and slipping under the jacket. From where Bruce’s head lays on Thor’s chest he can faintly hear the strong drum of the god’s heartbeat, and he can feel the unwavering strength in Thor’s stomach and arms, but he holds Bruce with the perfect balance of gentleness and tightness that Bruce just closes his eyes and lets his mind stop whirring.
He was right about the jacket, too: the material is soft where it drapes over his hands and arms, and he was correct about the warmth and cosiness. It’s like being tucked up against a heated blanket. Thor is warm and alive under his palms, radiating heat with every breath Bruce feels him take in. He’s secure in the best of ways, his arms holding Bruce in place and supporting him, his chest soft but firm at the same time, and Bruce can’t remember the last time he felt this safe. Thor smells nice, too. Not really like anything in particular, just whatever washing powder his clothes are cleaned with and a constant hint of ozone that Bruce can detect, and something that’s implicitly Thor,but it’s familiar and relaxing, amplified by their closeness. Gradually the tension flows out of Banner’s body, his muscles relaxing and his fingers curling gently into the material of Thor’s shirt, his breathing slowing along with his thoughts, and the panicked jumble in his chest smoothing out completely. His eyes are shut, now, and his head is practically nestled against Thor’s collarbone, but their breathing is in sync and Thor seems perfectly content to just hold him. Bruce, for once in his life, feels calm. It is so fucking good.
“Thanks, Thor,” he mumbles against the other man’s chest without opening his eyes, and he’s glad that this is so easy. He’s glad that they don’t have to talk, that he doesn’t have to explain how he feels or justify why he needs to have a goddamn cuddle session. He’s glad that Thor is just here, hugging him close, and it’s fine. It’s simple, and it’s easy, and it’s okay. Thor’s arm’s tighten fractionally around him, and Bruce just curls closer in return, pleased at the warmth and the cosiness, at the feeling of being so close to another person.
“Any time, Banner,” Thor assures him, and he can feel the baritone rumble of his voice in his chest. Bruce smiles, and for once, it feels real.