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He had a slight tendency to lose consciousness, coming back from the Hulk. Bruce knew this. If he was lucky, and possibly depending on how much damage the Other Guy had taken, he might get a few seconds consciousness before conking out. Enough to check that he was somewhere ... safer, at least. By the very nature of the transformations, he wouldn't come back in what the military probably would term 'the hot zone', but ... well, that wasn't always a very reassuring thought. So the chance to check was ... appreciated.
A lot of the time, though, he didn't even get that. He would wake up who-knows-how-long later, to find himself with shredded pants (or no pants) on, for example, a riverbank in Columbia.
Given what they were facing, he'd gone into the Manhattan fight knowing he wouldn't get those few seconds of consciousness at the end. He'd known, before he'd ever showed up, that if he survived long enough to transform back, and wherever the hell he woke up after, in the shattered ruins of a skyscraper, maybe, or on an alien ship, or in a reinforced plastic cage 30,000 feet up ... Wherever it was, he'd be in it long before he had the chance to help himself. Long before he'd have the chance to run.
It had been ... oddly liberating, in some ways. That thought. It hadn't even really been a conscious decision, to come back. He'd just ... found himself most of the way there, on a bombed-out motorcycle, watching the skies begin to fall, and ... He'd known that whatever happened, there was no way back from this. And it had been ... almost peaceful. Beneath the hum of a cresting anger, beneath the rising tide of fear. It had been ... almost calm.
It hadn't really mattered, where he'd wake, was what he was saying. When you're in freefall ... it doesn't really matter how far away the ground is.
So ... In some ways, it was strange, that waking. Blinking back up into consciousness, the aches running through him, the vague pains that always accompanied the loss of his other half. Deeper, maybe, this time, a deeper trembling, a deeper shock, but that was hardly unexpected. He'd fought the falling of the sky from another world, after all. Pain was ... not unexpected.
What was unexpected ...
"Hey," said a soft voice, practically in his ear. A shoulder, propped against his, an elbow nudging him gently. "You with us, sunshine?"
Bruce ... blinked awake. Opened his eyes, felt himself stiffen warily, a thousand deep aches flaring warningly at him for it. He opened his eyes, to sunshine on a floor of glass, a shattered room, and lifted his head from that strange shoulder to look sideways.
Tony, looking tired and bashed up, and more than a little smug, smiled back at him.
And for a second, just one clean, clear second, there was ... peace. Just a sense of peace, of blind relief. And then ...
"Where ... Where are we?" He tried to sit up, felt too many muscles twinge to manage it. With a grimace, he subsided, and then blinked a little as Tony shifted to hold Bruce up against his side, the man's arm coming around his shoulders to keep him steady. An unarmoured arm, now that he was looking at it. And pretty filthy, dirt and oil, some blood. Blood and oil, they could have come from inside the suit. Dirt ... "What happened?" It came out clearer, this time, Bruce's brain booting up, and he turned to look more closely at Tony. "Did we ...?"
Tony grinned. Rich and bright, exhausted and triumphant, tugging Bruce into him lightly, a tiny hug Bruce couldn't actually bring himself to protest, despite the ache it caused.
"We kicked alien ass, that's what happened!" Tony beamed at him, bouncing a little in his seat, and then wincing faintly. Not that it seemed to deter him in the slightest. "Not sure how much you remember, Big Guy, but you should have seen us, baby! We kicked their asses right back off our planet!"
Bruce ... blinked. "We did?" He leaned back, a little, moving to scan the room. Skyscraper, by the view out of the now non-existent windows. He didn't recognise the room, but from the height and what he remembered seeing as he drove into Manhattan, he was guessing Stark Tower. Probably Tony's penthouse. It was looking ... more than a little trashed.
And also more than a little empty.
"The others?" he asked, very quietly. Feeling a twinge of ... something. Worry, maybe. Nascent grief. Some strange mix of regret and relief, confusion. He wasn't really sure. He was too tired to analyse himself too closely.
"They're fine," Tony said, softly. Watching him carefully. "Thor and Steve are escorting Loki back out to the helicarrier for containment. Natasha and Clint ... either went with them, or went to find a first-aid station somewhere, I'm not sure. Clint was fairly banged up. Natasha wanted to get him to medical." A small smile. "And also to murder anyone who looked at him funny in the process, I think. There's something going on, there ..."
"Don't poke it," Bruce found himself cutting in, almost automatically. An autopiloted response, over the blank white sheen of relief that crested through him. "She'll kill you."
And then, after a moment, when he was a little more coherent ... He blinked into Tony's broad grin, and asked: "Shouldn't you be in medical yourself? You look a little ..."
... like he'd gone a few rounds with the Hulk, but Bruce wasn't going to say that. Couldn't really believe he'd even thought it. Though it was ... pretty accurate. Tony looked beat-up, run-down. Exhausted, dirty and sporting a good few new cuts. Bruce ... wasn't sure he wanted to see what the armour looked like, if this was what had gotten through it.
Tony smiled tiredly at him. "Probably," he admitted, not looking at all guilty. "Had a bit of a freefall, lost consciousness for a bit. I'm not supposed to fall asleep for a while, but JARVIS is taking care of that for me. But, you know, no biggie. Just a few new dents, nothing much to worry about."
Bruce blinked at him. "A few new dents?" He couldn't quite help the tinge of incredulity. "I seem to remember ... an alien dragon? And the sky falling. And that was before the Hulk."
Tony flashed him a grin, tired and ... exultant. Excited. "Oh, you don't even know," he grinned, his knee bouncing erratically alongside Bruce's. "The dragon? That was just the start. You, me and Thor, we got most of those. Okay, I got two, one with you, one on my own. And you got ... two, I think. Three? You got mobbed by the little guys with bikes for a while, maybe missed a couple. Thor probably got more, but then he did have the whole 'electrify the Chrysler Building and hit them with the lance of God' trick, which is totally unfair, and shouldn't count. Though, I guess, I got the whole Armageddon-style riding an nuke into an Apocalypse thing, so maybe I can give him the Chrysler ..."
That ... there was ... Bruce didn't even know what to do with that. Except ...
"A nuke?" he asked, hard and sharp, now. "You rode a nuke." Tony blinked at him. His eyes ... weren't fully tracking, Bruce realised, with a shot of alarm. "And freefall ... Tony. Tony, you need to tell me why you're not in medical. You need to tell me what happened."
He straightened, now, pulled himself upright and damn the aches, damn the shakes. Tony made a small noise of protest, actually swaying into Bruce to avoid losing contact with him. Apparently without realising it too much. Bruce propped him backwards, against the back of the ... couch, they were on the couch, when had that happened? Hoping, as he did so, that there wasn't any stray glass back there.
What the hell? Why were they still sitting here? Why had the others let them?
"Tony," he said again. More gently, now. Holding the man by his shoulders, trying to coax Tony into meeting his eyes. "Tony. Tell me why we're here. Why aren't you in medical?"
And then ... Then there was something, in Tony's eyes. Something dark, and serious, and fully present, even if focusing seemed to currently be a problem for him. Something Bruce ... remembered. From the lab on the Helicarrier. Something that ... might have been quite a lot of the reason he'd found himself on that motorcycle, driving towards Manhattan and the falling of the sky.
"Figured you wouldn't want to wake up in SHIELD medical," Tony said, very quietly. "The Big Guy, he was fine here, fine with us, but once people started making noises about heading back to the carrier, getting Loki under wraps ... You were getting antsy. I'm guessing, given how you left the carrier, the Hulk wasn't all that eager to go back." He paused, smiled lopsidedly. "So I ... offered to hang around here for a bit. Keep the Big Guy company, until you came back. Yeah?"
Bruce swallowed. Shook his head, haltingly. In confusion, mostly. And ... something. Some echoing thing inside him. Not anger. Something else.
"And ... they let you?" he rasped, hands still wrapped around Tony's shoulders. Not sure what else to do with them. "Even with ... what looks like a concussion?" Even with the Hulk, more to the point, but the word wouldn't come. Couldn't force its way past his lips.
Tony smiled, reaching up to touch lightly at Bruce's wrist. "JARVIS had me covered. He's been pinging me, if it looks like I'm falling asleep." He waved a hand, absently, dismissively. "Had to get out of the armour, of course, it's a bitch to sit still in for any length of time, but after that ..."
He stopped. Smiled at Bruce, distantly, a little strangely.
"You know you saved my life, right?" he asked, almost casually. Smiling while Bruce blinked desperately at him. "The Big Guy. I wasn't awake for that part, but Steve and Thor saw you. When I fell. After the bomb. You ... caught me." He grinned, laughed. "Caught a falling Stark and put him in your pocket, hmm?" Snickering to himself. "But you did. So ... I guess they thought I was safe enough, with you. I guess they thought I'd be fine."
And he smiled, soft and serene and utterly confident, utterly sure, that he was fine, sitting here for however long, beside the Hulk, beside Bruce's monster. Trusting. Standing guard. Tony smiled, and something ... turned over, in Bruce's chest.
"You knew I'd come back," he heard himself say, distantly. "When I got here. Steve ... he contacted you. Told you I was there. Because ... you knew I would be. That I'd come back." Tony grinned at him, a little, and Bruce shook his head. "How?"
Tony reached up, tapped at the reactor in his chest, smiling faintly. "Because you seemed that kind of guy," he said, with that strange little grin. With that smug little smirk. "I told you, remember? That you might enjoy it. What life saved you for. I said that, didn't I?"
Bruce ... blinked. Shook his head. "And ... I told you you might regret it, if I did," he said, very softly. Very gently. Tony smiled.
"Yeah," he nodded. "But I didn't, did I?" Leaning into the press of Bruce's hands on his shoulders, in the shattered remnants of his tower. Smiling, ever so faintly. "I didn't regret it at all."
And Bruce ... closed his eyes. Let the tremors take him over, let the shakes run through him, his arms collapsing and letting Tony fall towards him. Into him. He closed his eyes, and felt himself laugh, faintly, a harsh little bubble, relief bursting through him. Felt Tony's arms curl around him, felt the man fall in close and rest his head against Bruce's shoulder, and laughed.
This time, this one time ... he'd landed somewhere safe, hadn't he? He'd known, coming here, that he would never get to know, never get the chance to check. That in coming back, he'd be leaving his life, his freedom, in someone else's hands. He'd known, before he ever came, that he had no guarantees where he would wake.
And now, maybe ... maybe he did. Maybe this once, he did.
"Thanks for saving my life," Tony whispered, into his shoulder. Shaking. Aftershocks, the loss of adrenalin. Raw relief. "Thanks for coming back, yeah?"
"Yeah," Bruce whispered, around the knot of tears in his throat. Holding him close. "Thanks ... for staying with me." A whisper, near shaken out of him, feeling Tony smile shakily into his shoulder. "Thanks for letting me come back."
"Any time, Big Guy. Any time."