newcastlecrew | for ~hulk

[ Doors of any persuasion aren't enough to bother Bruce anymore— Not when he knows there are none can hold him if he wants out, and not when he's been on the receiving end of gunfire too enough to mistake anything else for it. That arm though... That's a very different subject.

Not that it may end up being a subject at all, he reminds himself as he's shuffled farther into the house. Since there's nothing to stop John from snapping out of whatever this is, thinking better of it all and steering Bruce right back round and out that door. Smartest option for all parties involved if he did, honestly; even smarter if Bruce did it for him but. ...Well. Bruce Banner's never been as smart as other people thought he was.

He's only half listening, too tangled in his own head to offer anything past a vague nod until golden light flares under his feet and fills the rest of the room. That makes him startle, skidding back a step with a quiet yelp before he realizes— Oh. Okay then. John has his attention now. ]

You mean that's what all this is supposed to do.

[ The hypothetically hardly needs saying. Bruce could almost apologize for the skepticism but after nearly a decade spent running down any idea he could think of to cure or contain the other guy only to have it blow up in his face? He thinks he's entitled.

Still. It looks nice. John went to no small effort here and that's something Bruce can appreciate. Even if it probably won't work. ]

It...looks very thorough, at least? [ He shrugs his bag higher on his shoulder. ] Very shiny.

[ Nailed it. ]

[It's not the first time someone's been a skeptic. Hell, it's not the first time Bruce has been a skeptic. John takes the comment in stride, quirking his head to look at the other man and squeezing the arm circled around Bruce's back as well as the hand attached to it clamped to Bruce's arm.]

Shiny? Come now, I'm being a very gracious host, the least you can do is offer something with a little more substance.

[With his opposite hand he gives Bruce a pat on the stomach before releasing all touch entirely. Then he extends his hands forward, giving them a quick wave and causing the lights to grow dim once again.]

You've been traveling for a good while. Can I get you something to eat?

[ Catching John's look out the corner of his eye, Bruce flashes a wryly apologetic smile. ]

If it actually shows some of that substance, I'll offer it.

[ Not that he's raring to see it put in action. No thank you, sir. Best to leave John's fancy light show on the shelf— Theoretically practical but ultimately just for show. A very well-meaning show, to be sure, but. Yeah. ]

If you've got it to spare, [ comes the deflection, Bruce still blinking at the sudden lack of contact and the mild regret at losing it. Jesus, Banner, get it together. ] Got a bite of something on the road earlier.

[ Which...doesn't count for much several hours after the fact, doubly so given Bruce's gamma-geared metabolism. Even on green-free days, his body burns through calories faster than a grad student's Adderall supply during finals. ]

We've got plenty to spare. Never know when you'll have a sudden craving for a home cooked meal.

[From Chas. That John usually volunteers him for.]

But since you are my guest, I choose the menu. [The arm once again circles around Bruce to usher him through the main area of the house and into the kitchen.] I hope you're alright with breakfast at night. Of course you are, what kind of heathen wouldn't be?

[John's not the greatest at cooking, but he enjoys and feels comfortable with breakfast. Thankfully there's plenty of options that don't take very long and test his patience. After herding Bruce to the bar, John once again releases him, this time to bustle around the kitchen making various clanging noises until finding the skillet he's after. He raids the refrigerator for eggs, sausage, toast, and a tomato. Not quite a full English, but he sets to work on making enough to feed three very hungry people.]

We'll get some substance in you before we see the actual substance the enchantments have. Sound good?

The home-cooked part is a little much. [ Bruce can't help the minor protest as John shepherds him along, a gangling piece of flotsam carried along by a rather insistent current. ] Breakfast is fine though really, I. I really wasn't expecting more than a sandwich here.

[ As if Bruce would say anything else. Even were it not fine (and really, when isn't breakfast food a good option), he was raised better than to be picky in the face of somebody generous enough to feed him. Besides you go hungry often enough — and Bruce has since going on the run, more times than he'd care to remember — that you eat whatever you can, whenever you can.

Settling onto a stool with his backpack beside him, he's finally afforded a chance to actually look around the cozy chaos that is the mill house. Last time he was here there hadn't been any time to take it in, never mind that coming off a transformation left his head feeling more like chewed up taffy than anything else. Made for less than ideal conditions to appreciate this episode of Lifestyles of the Occult and Shameless. ]

Yeah, that sounds... [ Wait a minute. The house may be distracting but it'd take a little more than that to slip that sentence by him. ] How are we going to see that. Exactly.

[At "a little much" John scrunches his entire face towards Bruce. He'll do exactly what he wants to do when he wants to do it and no amount of this stupid protesting will change his mind. The protesting is even more stupid when it's about a meal of all things. Everybody eats.

As the proteins cook John drops the bread into the toaster and slices the tomato at the bar, facing Bruce. When he finishes he points the red goop covered knife directly toward Bruce and gestures with it as he speaks. There's more than enough room between them, it's fine.]

Easy. We bring the other guy out to play. You're skeptical, I want to prove it works. Beneficial for the both of us really.

[ Sure, everybody eats — but there are much faster and less effort-intensive ways of making that happen. Like a sandwich. Or a box of cereal. All of which seemed much more likely because John Constantine does not look like a guy who wears an apron. It's a novelty to watch him work like this, or it would've been if not for what he's suggesting for the after-dinner entertainment.

Also before the knife started waggling back and forth. "More than enough room," Bruce's scrawny irradiated ass— Tipping back on his seat, he catches himself on the bar as his eyebrows reach for his hairline. ]

Sorry, I'm. There must have been a thing just now or my ears weren't... Because it sounded like you said you want to induce an episode. Right here. In your house. Which, [ he chuckles, strained and incredulous, ] is just. I know I mentioned a few of your ideas were bad already but this is so far past bad that even you wouldn't.

[ See, John. This is the part where you say gotcha and a discussion on inappropriate humor can immediately follow because what the actual hell. ]

That is where you don't know me very well, mate.

[John sets down the knife and returns to the skillet, flipping the eggs and turning the sausage links. The toasts pops out of the toaster and he drops the pieces onto a nearby plate.]

And I realize that I don't know you very well yet either, but I can tell when you won't give it a rest. So we'll put things to bed one thing at the time.

[The wink he throws in Bruce's direction finishes the unspoken innuendo for him. John turns off the stove and flips the eggs and sausage onto the plate along with the toast. He grabs two forks and a haphazard pile of napkins, placing everything in front of Bruce none too carefully. The tomato on the cutting board stays on the bar, it's fine where it is.

After another trip back to the main area of the kitchen John returns with a can of beer for himself, one for Bruce, and a glass of water if Bruce declines the first option.

When everything's finally ready he sits beside Bruce nudging him with an elbow.]

Don't be shy, most of that is yours. [John reaches for one of the forks and leans across Bruce to stab at one of the tomato slices.] Except what I get for myself, but I don't eat much anyway.

[Yeah, he's entirely too casual about the incident thing.]

Maybe not, but I assumed you weren't brain damaged.

[ Bruce shoots back, temper flaring ahead of his better judgment and he winces two seconds after the words leave his lips. Shoving the greening curls of frustration to the back of his head where they belong, he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes to compose himself. (And to help ignore that wink, good lord.) ]

I'm sorry, that was... I shouldn't have said that.

[ Food forgotten, he tugs off his cap to better scrub his face with the heel of his palm and swivels to face John. "Casual" is too tame an adjective by far and Bruce needs to impress how serious this could get. He hadn't thought he'd have to given John had a pretty good seat last time but. Clearly not. ]

But John, you— Take two seconds to think. This is like making sure your fire extinguisher works by dousing your house in gasoline and lighting a match. If whatever you've come up with is an inch short of where it needs to be, then.

[ The easy confidence smacks too much of Harlem and his stomach lurches, smells stale Chinese takeout mixing with the sterile smell of lab equipment while Sterns laughed at his concerns. I've always been more curious than cautious, and that's served me pretty well — until it hadn't. Maybe his control had been slightly better the second time he'd seen New York but not by that much. Definitely not enough to say Hulk would listen to Bruce's backseat driving instead of tossing him in the trunk for the ride. ]

Forget whatever'll happen to the house, I could kill you.

[That look and pointed words do their job. John's face grows more serious as the gravity of the situation takes hold. He does exactly as Bruce requests and allows a silence to fall between them.]

You have every right to be angry with me. No apologies necessary.

[John appreciates when another person doesn't hold back. Even if it's the ugly parts. Especially the ugly parts. He doesn't need anything dressed up on his account.

With food forgotten John drops his fork and turns to face Bruce entirely. He reaches forward to touch his fingertips to the top of Bruce's arm, resting his hand for as long as Bruce will allow. He makes direct eye contact as his voice grows quieter and speech more slow.]

I wanted you to feel like you didn't have to run here, Bruce. That you could stay as long as you liked without having to worry about looking over your shoulder or worry about potential destruction. I know that's not an easy thing to come by.

[The second point John wants to make causes him to look down with a wry shake of the head before glancing up again.]

As for myself, my own life isn't worth very much. If you have to choose between me and the house, choose the house.

[ Relief writes itself plain on Bruce's face once he sees John listen to what he's saying. True, neither of them know each other very well, but he's seen that John has a practical head on his shoulders under that unruly mop. Even if it does take a metaphorical slap upside it to bring it back to the point now and again.

But then John answers his bluntness with unexpected softness and it takes him by complete surprise. Has him flinching at the touch, gentle as it is, before he forces himself still again with an embarrassed sorry. Then John speaks again and. ]

Oh.

[ When John had promised an easy fix on the phone, Bruce had thought it just another brushoff. Something to shut his paranoid ass up so he would focus on whatever really mattered— it was all the same whether it was Fury on his helicarrier, Sterns in his lab, and John Constantine looked to join the list. But instead this is...infinitely more thoughtful and considerate than Bruce is used to and it rattles him almost as much as John having read him so well in the first place. Swallowing thickly, he ducks his head in a sharp nod to try and collect himself again. ]

No. It's not. Thank you for that.

[ Bruce's voice is quiet and sincere as John's when he replies, a tiny smile hiding in the corner of his mouth. He turns his wrist, brushing his knuckles against John's forearm without dislodging the hand on his arm. ]

Still not about to choose the house, [ he tacks on. ] I mean, I'd prefer the scenario where no one has to make any choice like that at all but. Yeah.

[ And if that smile turns a little too knowing, well. Self-loathing is too old a friend for him not to recognize when it's sitting right in front of him. ]

[It's a relief to see the change in Bruce's demeanor. John hadn't wanted to explain it like this, everything would be so much easier if Bruce had shown a little more trust and faith. Then again, John knows himself and his own reputation. Trust isn't something he earns often, if at all.

As Bruce turns his wrist John stretches an index finger toward him, gently flicking a touch against the hand.]

You can see why I'd suggest to test it then.

[With his free hand John nudges the plate full of food toward Bruce.]

But we don't have to if you'd rather not. Or wait for another time. [He lifts his eyebrows in Bruce's direction in an attempt to lighten the mood with a pleading look.] Don't make me have cooked all that for nothing.

[ John doesn't earn it often and Bruce offers it even less often. A habit that doesn't break easily no matter what breakfast foods are offered. The kind intentions, though...those go a much longer way, as do the touch and the ridiculous overplayed pout John tosses at him. ]

Yeah. I get it.

[ He huffs a quiet laugh as he's reminded once again of the food sitting right in front of him and the look Bruce gives that plate is nothing short of longing. Unfortunately— ]

Put them in the oven. Or I don't know, somewhere else it'll stay warm. [ A sigh escapes him, followed by a a quiet curse under his breath. ] If we're going to do what we're going to be doing, I'll just end up hungry again afterward. And then you will have cooked it for nothing.

[ With how his system runs, eating now would be as productive as a fresh coat of paint on a car right before driving it off a cliff. At least when they're through, Bruce won't care if the food's hot, cold, or cardboard. God, he can't believe he's agreeing to this. ]

And find the stupid purple pants, because I'm not ruining this pair for this. I like this pair.

[They seem to have finally reached an understanding. Bruce knows what John intends, which yes, seems more than a little crazy, but there was reason and purpose behind it that had everything to do with Bruce himself.]

The oven, right. Smart.

[John pulls himself away from Bruce, already missing the touch when they part. He takes the plate and crosses the length of the kitchen, placing it inside the oven as suggested.]

Now. Those eggs saw that look you gave them, sir. They're going to be very disappointed if you leave them hanging. As for the pants— [John can't help but smile a little. These were the very things that he used in luring Bruce back to the mill house after all.] I know exactly where they are, hold on a moment.

[He doesn't make Bruce wait long, retrieving the trousers from his bedroom and tossing them in Bruce's direction toward his face.]

You made the right decision, by the way. Now that I don't have to look at those awful photos of yours I have a true appreciation for now nicely those jeans fit you.

They don't have to worry much. Once this is over I'll probably try to eat the plate.

[ He's joking. ...Kinda. Anyway.

Bruce crosses his arms, elbows planted on the counter as he waits for John to come back. Doesn't catch himself rubbing at where John's hand had been until he's catching the sudden wad of purple aimed at his face. Usually he'd mention something about how it's somewhat rude to throw things at people but then John is...well. Himself.

Grown men really should lose the ability to blush after a certain age. Why isn't that a thing. ]

It's not— The pictures were fine since I'm just wearing them, there's nothing special about that. I bought them at a K-Mart. [ Oh, god. Why did he say that. Why does he ever say anything? A true mystery for the ages. ] Look. Give me a couple minutes to get changed and I'll meet you outside.

[ Not because he doesn't trust John's magic to work, mind. It's just that yeah, he totally doesn't trust this magic stuff to work and the less collateral damage when it doesn't, the better. ]

Edited (sure was missing a word there cause i'm a dumbass) 2018-05-08 02:05 (UTC)

Well it was a very fashionable K-Mart. [When John moves toward the front door he adjusts his course to circle around Bruce, rubbing his shoulders in encouragement like a boxing coach.] Might I also recommend Goodwill? [It's not a sarcastic suggestion. John doesn't see the sense in spending an exorbitant amount of money for clothes and he knows that Bruce can be low on cash sometimes.] It's where I get my very best.

[Still can't escape the self deprecating comment at his own expense though.

After further massaging, John gives Bruce's shoulder a single encouraging pat when he stops.]

Meet you out there, squire.

[Without another word John makes his way outside, lighting up the grounds with a series of circles. When Bruce arrives he's free to take his pick.]

Edited 2018-05-09 18:04 (UTC)

I'll keep that in— Noted. Yeah.

[ Bruce glances back over his shoulder and tries to ignore how his ears red enough to steam as John seamlessly slips back into his space and. Rubs his shoulders? Most massages are meant to relax but by the time John steps out Bruce is more keyed up than ever.

Jesus. Grow the hell up, Banner. Get your shit together and move your ass.

Once he's sure John isn't about to stick his head back in for another witty one-liner, Bruce doesn't waste time. A couple minutes is more than he needs to dress for the occasion, stuffing his clothes and shoes into the bug-out bag and hoping he'll be back for them sooner rather than never. He's lost a lot of clothes over the years— Though never for volunteering to do something like this. Maybe he hit his head somewhere. Maybe Constantine put a sort of magic whammy on him without him knowing. Maybe there's something in the water around Atlanta that's making him stupider than usual. Who even knows but Bruce still makes his way out after John. No backing out now. ...Well, he could but. No.

The same circles are waiting outside as in and if Bruce didn't know better? He'd swear he could feel the sigils tingling underfoot as he pads over to the one farthest from the house in nothing but tanned skin and Mardi Gras ready maternity pants. ]

If this goes south...run. Okay? Just run. No magic missiles or anything else you may think of. It'll just piss him off.

[John stubbornly follows Bruce all the way out to the furthest circle. If there is any unforeseen flaw or last minute error that he can correct, then he will correct it. When Bruce enters the circle John stands stands just outside the barrier.

When Bruce makes his request, John nods. Bruce knows the other guy best.]

I understand. Just run.

[He then taps his foot on the outer edge of the circle, feeling the almost electric hum underfoot. Good.]

So. Do I need to help you trigger anything?

[The one time previously John has seen Hulk wasn't exactly purposeful.]

No, it's— No. [ He shakes his head. ] This part I've got a handle on. Kind of.

[ Even if he can't, the last thing he wants is to bring over any kind of hostile associations Hulk can latch onto. Bad enough to be doing this at all but it could get so much worse giving the other guy an active reason to be pissed at John.

Besides. Not as if letting Hulk out has ever been Bruce's problem.

The hair on the back of his neck prickles, the green static constantly buzzing in the back of his head rising up in anticipation. The other guy's been antsy since Bruce decided to come back to Atlanta, spiking in time with Bruce's nerves and eager for any fight over flight. Bruce tries to fix the thought in his head that this is going to be safe, and quiet, and no goddamn smashing but Hulk isn't big on listening and the moment Bruce opens the door an inch? That's all it takes.

A riptide of adrenaline sucks him under as the world goes green, color staining his skin almost faster than the eye can follow. The change comes quickly without Bruce scratching and clawing for that last inch control, but no amount of willing can ever make it easy. The pants last as long as they're able before the hems split around tree trunk legs corded with muscles rippling into existence. Bones shift and snap beneath skin that barely stretches in time to cover the new frame, all accompanied by a horror movie soundtrack of wet, crunching, painful sounds and a deepening snarling rumble from a growing barrel chest.

And when Hulk finally opens his eyes, irises glowing sickly bright and green in the dark... He is not happy. Before, the good time, there had been many things to smash and the puny voice had stopped annoying him with no. It had been a good day, a good fight, showed how Hulk was strongest there ever was, but this? Nothing but trees and a tiny yellow man and the shiny floor and Banner trying to yell at him. Hulk growls his disdain for all of it, takes a step toward the treeline—

Only to walk face-first into the barrier. The light flares on contact and again as Hulk, blinking and confused, tries to turn and leave another way. There's only so far Hulk gets with confusion before it turns into frustration, green teeth bared in a challenge as he slams washing machine sized fists against the invisible walls that dare hem him in. Gold energy flickers around each impact as Hulk does his damnedest to punch his way out, harder and harder as the frustration and anger fans hotter and hotter and he roars his grievance loud enough to shake leaves from the trees. ]

[John watches the transformation, with both anticipation and anxiousness. Though he was certain the barriers would work when he pitched the idea, he had still never tested them with anything like Hulk. When the seams burst and he hears the tearing of clothes John's heart leaps to his throat yet he refuses to move.

In an instant a multitude of questions rush through his mind. Has he taken every precaution to reinforce the barrier? If Hulk somehow gets out of this one will the next activate? Can John run fast enough if it doesn't? Lungs of a lifelong chain smoker are enough to answer that one.

But the questions needn't be answered as the flare of light activates. And then rapidly over and over again as Hulk tries to break through. A slow, lopsided grin spreads across John's face. It works. This will be such an aid to not only themselves here at the mill house but anywhere else should Bruce need it. For now this means that Bruce can stay for as long as he wants. Hulk won't be a danger here.

John positions himself as close to the barrier as possible, feet only a fraction of an inch away from the border. He's almost nose to nose where the gold light would shimmer should it erupt again. Taking a chance for curiosity's sake, John lifts a hand and touches the invisible barrier from the outside. Up goes the wall once again, and John peers through his own translucent creation.

The other guy still rages beyond the wall, but John stands firm and unafraid. He's not going anywhere.]

[ There are a lot of things Hulk does not like. Fire. Guns. Men who carry them. The other machines those men bring along, loud things that think they can hurt him. Small spaces were not on that list — claustrophobia is too big a word to wrap his head around, a Banner word, and one that doesn't mean anything anyway. There is no wall that can stop him. No barrier he can't break down.

This is not a wall. It's nothing until it's not, light sparking out of nowhere with that crackling almost-smell. Something between a lightning strike and alien lasers but at the same time like neither of them and he can feel it crawl up his arms with every connecting blow. A new kind of thing and Hulk is quick to decide it's another for things he does not like.

But like or not, the walls of light don't buckle or bend under the onslaught and another new thing begins to creep up and put his teeth on edge. Panic. Hulk does not do panic. That's another Banner word, a word for the small and weak who can't. Hulk is not small, or weak, and there is nothing he cannot do if he decides to do it. Nothing that can stop him — except this.

The panic is further fuel for his rage until forget fists, Hulk is hurling himself at the wards. A rabid animal desperate to escape a cage. The world narrows to the wall, to finding some way, any way out, when the wall shimmers again— But not because of him. A small man, yellow to match the light that won't let him leave, and Hulk bellows his hate as he rams his shoulder against solid air. ]

LET ME OUT!

[John's reaction is not a smart one. For a few moments he does nothing but watch Hulk attempt to escape and break free of his cage. Yet he can't because the barrier works exactly as intended.

Hands clap together and John lets out a jubilant laugh. It works. The entire thing bloody works. It not only means that he is entirely capable of constructing a barrier this strong (which to be honest is a nice boost to the ego) but more importantly it means that Bruce's needs have been met. The largest concern has been handled and Bruce will have one less thing nagging at his mind.]

Sorry mate, not until you play nice. We can get you started with a round of charades and see how it goes.

[ The laugh is definitely not a smart reaction. Not when Hulk can hear it, hear it directed at him, this tiny puny man laughing at him. Hulk roars again, incensed, fists slamming into the ground this time and leaving craters at his feet.

It takes the better part of ten minutes before Hulk runs out of rage, tires of throwing punches and kicks and himself at these walls that only glow the brighter how hard he fights. Pacing back and forth as much as he's able, his shoulders slump in defeat and he voices his frustration— A low mournful bay of a wild thing that finally realizes it's trapped.

This isn't how it's supposed to be. Hulk is strongest there is. ]

[John watches the tantrum in fascination. Though his laugh is a triumphant one at the magic itself and not meant at the other guy's expense, he can very quickly see how it would be and was taken badly.

The laughing quiets and John watches with as much stillness as he can muster. In his next terrible move of the day, John sits cross legged in front of the warded cage. If the barrier were to fall it would be next to impossible for him to unfold himself and run away in time. But this is a show of trust in Bruce and John once again reaches to the transparent wall, touching his hand to the gold.]

Hey, Bruce. I know you're still around. If it's alright with you, you can come out and we can take another crack at those eggs.

[Eggs. Crack. Ugh this is easier when someone can properly respond to his jokes.]

[ Hulk sees the light flash in the corner of his eye, whips his head around to glare at the yellow man again. At least he's not laughing anymore. But...he sits. Hulk hasn't seen that before, not in a while. People shout and scream and run and shoot and try to hurt — except one.

The memory of fresh rain and crashing thunder stirs something in the back of his head, something that hears this tiny person say a name. Hulk hates that name and he growls to himself, defensive and stubborn against Banner trying to put him away again. He just got here and he hasn't even gotten to do anything yet because he's been stuck in this stupid yellow light thing.

He presses the heel of his hand against his head, as if he could squash Banner just like that. If only. ]

...Eggs?

[ Half suspicious, half almost-remembering as Bruce struggles to get a grip inside his own mind. ]

Yeah, eggs.

[John smiles. It's not the triumphant smile of magic gone right or the closely related but not at all the same thing gloating smile. It's fond, happy, one that remembers the taste of a nice breakfast and is excited to share with someone else.]

And bacon, toast. If you prefer sausage we can do sausage. Sometimes ham! Tomatoes, mushrooms, I like beans but I know that's something you lot think is weird or whatever. The point is, I'm flexible with egg based breakfasts. Or any meal really.

[While John appeals to Bruce using the familiar memory of the interaction between them earlier he also deliberate avoids saying his name to prevent the other guy from raging Bruce further away.]

What do you say we go inside and eat, hm? Must be getting hungry about now.

[ It works. The words, the tone, both, whichever— It works and it shows. Shows in the heel pressed to Hulk's forehead even as his teeth grit through a snarl. Shows in the way he shakes his head, trying to dislodge a gnat that only buzzes louder and louder in his ear. He takes a step back into the barrier, golden light crackling out from the contact and he swats his other hand back against it to make it stop.

It doesn't. Damn it. ]

Beans good.

[ The wall, as aggravating as it still is, is solid. Hulk slides down against it to sit with a thump that practically bounces John off the ground. ]

[John's light body flops into the air before plopping back down, landing him on his side with trench coat pooling around his legs. In truth the small lesson in flight is kind of fun and when he pulls himself back up John maneuvers himself to once again sit as close to the barrier as possible. With legs crossed he reaches up to touch the golden wall as if patting Hulk's back, the closest he can reach to a shoulder.]

That's right, mate, beans good. Never would have expected a yank to agree with me regarding the beans, but you're a nice surprise. Good taste you've got there. [John words are kind and even, but not patronizing, addressing the other guy with the same curiosity and interest he would to meet anyone new.] Do you prefer them with toast or on their own?

[ He doesn't know about toast. Doesn't care either and almost asks anyway but it's a tug of war inside his head and Hulk doesn't want to go. Doesn't want to stay here but doesn't want to go back to wherever he stays when it's just... ]

Banner.

[ The name is growled with every ounce of venom Hulk has, sheer hate giving him the strength to hold out another few moments. At the end of it, as much as he despises Banner and wants to stay, Hulk has had enough of little yellow men and little yellow cages. There will be hell to pay next time around to make up for lost time.

For now...

It's smoother on the way back down. The noises are still disquieting, still unnatural, but as his body sags and melts back into itself it's... It's less. At the end of it Bruce's skin is almost translucent, so pale and washed out with the veins in sharp relief as the green is sucked back to wherever it's gone to. He wobbles in place, the barrier a necessary support behind him— Until it isn't.

Without Hulk there, or whatever it is about Hulk that triggers it, the magic vanishes and Bruce falls back, head on a clear course to crack against the ground. ]

Bruce!

[John springs up from the ground on reflex, instinctively infusing his body with a magical strength that he doesn't possess on his own. He quickly dashes to Bruce's side, catching the man on his way down and attempting to steady him back to his feet.]

Hey, hey. Good to see you back, mate. You're alright. I can help you walk if you need. If you can't walk at all you're going to have to tell me. This strength spell doesn't last terribly long.

[He does his best to give Bruce a reassuring smile. He's glad to see his friend back but with Bruce's skin as pale as it is they're not in the clear yet.]

Let me help get you to those eggs.

[ Wiry arms pluck Bruce out of free fall but all he can do is sag into that sudden strength. The world feels fuzzed out compared to Hulk's enhanced senses, everything blurry and dull except for the ache burying itself deep in his bones — and the scent of smoke that refuses to be ignored. He can't help but breathe it in as he's slumped against John, as he remembers that it is John he's slumping against.

Words. John is talking to him. He shakes his head as if that'll help him hear better but of course it doesn't work, only sharpens the pickaxes shoving their way into his temple. ]

Y- [ His tongue feels too thick for his mouth and he works his jaw, trying to figure out how words work again. ] C'n walk.

[ Whether he actually can do as he says... Well.

No, he can do this. He has to. He inhales slowly, starts to take the first unsteady step — before he remembers another important detail and a feeble hand snatches the waist of his pants, sagging dangerously low on scrawny hips. ]

L'go.

[John keeps his arms around Bruce for good measure, making certain that the other man can truly stand before he pulls away entirely. The release is incremental, with John moving slowly toward each part of the withdrawal. Although he no longer holds Bruce, John remains close just in case, only stepping away from Bruce's side to quickly step in front of him and open the door to the house.

As John holds the door open he can't help but take a peek at those exposed hips. It's not subtle.

Once they are inside, John closes and locks the door behind them, pointing with one open palm to the sofa and the other to the kitchen.]

So what'll it be? Rest or food?

[ He'd meant let's go rather than let go but that's the issue with slurring, isn't it? And by the time Bruce realizes what's going on, he's too busy focusing on staying upright to regret the loss of contact. Or notice the ogling, obvious as it is.

Leaning back against the door once it's shut, he blinks bleary-eyed at John and his sudden options. On that one hand, passing out sounds amazing. On the other— His stomach gurgles loudly, still unsettled from growing and shrinking in such short order but definitely empty and unhappy about the fact. ]

Food. [ Color is slow coming back to but embarrassment helps it along, a flush pinking his ears as he grimaces at himself. ] Please.

Hey. It'll be alright. [John does his best to sound reassuring. Though his voice softens it never loses its rough quality and he wraps an arm around Bruce's back to gently guide him onto the couch.]

Be right back.

[John returns in a few minutes with a full glass of water and warm, though not entirely fresh anymore, plate full of food. He sets both along with a fork and pile of napkins onto the table in front of the sofa.]

After all this you'd better not be shy about eating. If you want more I've got plenty.

Sorry.

[ Bruce sighs as he sinks into the couch, certain that in this moment it is the softest possible substance in the entire universe. If it weren't already spoken for in John's house, he could well ask the couch to run away with him — just as soon as his legs remember how to be legs again instead of jelly. First, though. The words. They come slow and it's an effort to get them strung out without tripping over each other, sure, but. But this was a shorter episode than most, and nowhere near as strenuous. He can do this. ]

I'm not... I usually take care of all this myself, swear.

[ (As if that fact was reassuring instead of just depressing.)

The napkins are a nice thought that are ignored once Bruce hauls himself semi-upright again. Or at least upright enough to reach the plate. That's as far as he needs to get. He barely hears the teasing admonishment, already mechanically shoveling the food into his mouth. In almost less time than it takes to tell, the plate is clear. Not that he could tell you what had been on it or how it tasted. ]

Oh. [ Like a needle stuck on a record groove, it takes a couple passes scraping a fork on an empty plate for him to realize it is empty. ] Right.

[Though John usually sees no reason to deny himself eggs, he instead watches Bruce eat his full plate of his. John's brows furrow in concern and he gently places a hand on Bruce's back as if to steady him. The Englishman is a light eater as it is and to see someone eat so much due to physical exertion is entirely foreign.

This time instead of asking Bruce what he needs and waiting for an answer, John takes it upon himself to address the situation. He stands on his own with a drifting touch away from Bruce's back to let him know that he'll return and collects the plate. From there John heads to the kitchen, piling the plate with the remaining bacon and tomato slices. He then makes quick work of scrambling eggs while a slice of bread toasts.

John returns to the couch with plate once again full and sits next to his guest, quietly placing the food in front of him.]

You've got enough on your mind, don't apologize.

[ He'd slowed down with that hand, eyes sliding shut as he chewed, skin almost prickling and oversensitive after changing back. Hulk is great for defense, god knows, but you don't shrug off napalm without sacrificing something. The contact is...

It very soon isn't as John returns to the kitchen and leaves Bruce already— Lord. He drags a hand down his face. He needs to get his crap together. What an idiot he is.

Almost as quick as he left, John is back. Or Bruce may have just zoned out for a minute staring at a particular cobweb on the bookshelf across from him. Who knows. The aroma of more food drags him to the plate nose-first before he visibly restrains himself. Wait. ]

No, n- You. [ Shaking his head (slowly, his skull still feels too small for his brain), he slides the plate toward John instead. ] You didn't even get anything to. Please.

I already ate before you arrived, and I don't need that much to begin with.

[John shrugs and slides the plate back in Bruce's direction.]

This is for you. But if you're going to insist then maybe I can oblige a little.

[John reaches across Bruce lap with a slight lean to grab at the newly positioned plate of food. He plucks one of the tomato slices with a hand and takes a small, leisurely bite from the top.]

The rest is yours. Have at it, squire.

[ Sure, Bruce knows he eats more than the average guy and knows why, but he still frowns at the apparent lack on John's part. He can't help but worry because of how lean John is, a fact that is... Very much in evidence when he reaches in close again to grab a bite and Bruce can't help but lean in like gravity towards the scent of nicotine and smoke in front of him. Only then it's not in front of him anymore and it's.

Good god, he needs to just. Lay his head down somewhere. ]

...Well. If y- I mean, really sure, then. [ He glances back at John, dazed eyes fixing for a moment on his mouth before Bruce shakes his head clear again. ] Even if you're j- You're too good to me.

[ A bare twitch of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth before he tucks in on his second plate of breakfast, gone just about as quickly as the first. ]

[John notices Bruce's lean and raises both eyebrows. After a moment a slow smile crosses his face and the smile doesn't leave as he chews his tomato slice.]

I'm sure. And what I am not is good for anyone. [it's said casually, like a fact as obvious as the color of the sky] Ask your green friend. He seems quite sour with me.

Edited 2019-07-22 17:35 (UTC)

Could've fooled m'so far.

[ The plate is empty again, but Bruce is a little more aware this time and doesn't try to get a forkful of the white stuff underneath the eggs. Has a little more wherewithal pushing the plate aside. Not enough to notice the eyebrows but then again, it's doubtful he'd notice them for what they were even at the height of his faculties.

He murmurs gratefully under his breath as he falls back against the couch again, eyes sliding shut as his head tips back. ]

And don't usually check for his opinions either, so... [ Bruce's voice trails off, brow slowly creasing before he cracks one eye open to peer at John without moving his head. ] ...Were you laughing at—? Is th- I'm not remembering that right, right?

Oh yeah I was laughing, but not at him. [John replies just as casually as he leaves for the moment to scoop more food onto the plate before unceremoniously shoving it back in front of Bruce.]

See, I'd never tried that particular trick before. I mean, obviously, you're the only one with that certain ability that I know of. But I knew the components and structure of the thing so I was fairly certain, but you can never be absolutely sure until you try so...

[John claps his hands together, then extends them outward with a hollow pop sound from his lips.]

Eureka and all that.

Okay, Archimedes. [ A ghost of a smile flickers on his face. Nerd jokes. ] Point aside, he's... Pretty sure there wasn't that much distinction happening.

[ Which is a very mild, very tired way of saying that John like as not has gotten himself another enemy to worry about and this one invited right into his house. The barely-there smile fades fast as Bruce presses the heel of his palm against his forehead, scrubs down to drag at his face. His nose smells the new food, his stomach votes to keep eating for the love of god please, but the aching rest of him knows better.

This had been a bad idea before. Bruce had certainly warned John about it, about coming back, even for a day. It was the risk always hung around Bruce's neck any time he tried to be a person around people: eventually, somehow, one way or another someone would end up hurt and it'd be his fault. Again. And that was just baseline, how Hulk was normally — so how much worse would it get now, Hulk unleashed with a specific warlock that he was specifically furious with?

His fingers drop to his shoulder, arm across his bare chest as he sets his jaw. It's the right decision, he knows that, knew it the second he switched buses back to Georgia, and so he ignores how his voice comes out small and leaden. ]

I should go.

What? No.

[Bruce's assertion catches John by surprise. He stills, frowning, both concerned and irritated.]

The whole point of that entire exercise was to give you a way to transform without hurting me or the house. And that's exactly what happened. So what if he's irritated? The big guy is irritated all the time. I'd say this setup is better than anything else you're going to find out there.

But what if it goes wrong? Th- I don't know, a circle gets smudged or the juice goes out of it or. Something. [ He doesn't know magic mechanics but there's never anything a hundred percent guaranteed. Ever. ] And then you're right in the crosshairs and...

[ Hauling himself forward with his elbows on his knees, Bruce laces his fingers over the back of his neck. John isn't wrong— There isn't anything likely to be out there better than this but is it good enough? Does he dare risk if it's not? ]

I can't let that happen. Not again.

Not again? Bruce.

[Comfort levels be damned. John reaches toward Bruce, touching the arm that hangs along his side.]

You've never hurt me. And if you let me help you, I can work on making certain other people don't get hurt as well. I'll reinforce the circles every day if I have to. If you're out there, what's to stop someone else from being in the crosshairs, huh? You leave and you're going to have one very annoying foul-mouthed shadow following you around.

[ No, it's never been John but it has been a whole number of people, similarly intent to help him right up until Bruce blew up in their faces. He doesn't want to add John to that list.

...On the other hand, John isn't like any of those others with some apparently formidable defenses of his own. Any distrust of the whole magic business aside, Bruce can't argue that or that this is the closest to containment he's come outside of Fury's mile-high club. He also can't hide the sharp inhale or the quiet sigh at the contact John's still so willing to give. ]

You really wouldn't have anything better to do? [ A weak smile dimples his cheek as he glances at John out the corner of his eye. ] May want to find yourself a hobby.

for ~hulk

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