Bruce's hands nervously twitched and his intertwined fingers moved relentlessly, fighting the urge to remove and replace his glasses again as he had done at least ten times already. He had been staring out the window for several minutes with no sound other than the quiet rhythm of his breathing, now calm again after the last round of questions asked had him feeling particularly emotional.

"Bruce, what are you thinking right now?"

"The same things that I've been thinking for three months now. That hasn't changed."

"Can you tell me?"

"Why do I need to tell you again?" he groaned, finally relenting and removing his glasses to rub his eyes in frustration and an almost debilitating exhaustion. "I've told you this a million times and nothing ever changes. I've barely slept, because every time I do, I have that same damn nightmare over and over. Only now, instead of them playing out the way the accident really happened, I can't even get the other guy to listen to me and I'm left as the inept Doctor Banner who has to sit by and watch Tony die. Do you know what it feels like to wake up and think that you let your closest friend die every single time that your eyes open, even though you know full well that he's fine in reality? I can't keep going like this."

"It sounds to me like changes are happening, even if you don't recognize them. Your dreams are changing to reflect how you're feeling."

"But I know how I'm feeling!" he snapped. "I am completely in touch with how I feel. I have to be all of the time in order to... to keep control. But I can't sleep, I can barely eat, and I haven't done any real work in weeks. What if the next thing that I lose is my control? What then?"

"Bruce, you know that this is a process. Progress takes time and patience."

"Well, doc, we had better figure this out fast," he sighed, moving to the door to leave the therapist's office. "Because I'm running out of both."

~~~

"Hey, kiddo, I think this organ you gave me is possessed or something."

"Excuse me?" you choked slightly on your cereal, grabbing a napkin to wipe away the milk that you had spit all over the table. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Hear me out," he continued, holding his hand out to keep you quiet to make his point. He sat in the chair across from you, nodding a silent welcome to Steve as he entered the room behind you. "Okay, so all of the sudden, I love chocolate now. And I mean LOVE it. Can't get enough. Scotch tastes funny-"

"You're not supposed to drink, Tony," Steve barked an interruption as he poured his coffee with a long yawn and a hand rubbing his cheek and up into his already messy hair.

"Okay, right, I know. It was just a sip. Anyway, all of my pizza topping choices have suddenly changed, and I feel like I don't have enough spring colors in my wardrobe. And pleeease," he groaned as he turned to face the Captain, "don't get me started on how good Steve's ass is looking in those jeans today."

"Jesus, Tony, you're being ridiculous."

"Wait, it doesn't look good today?" Steve chuckled, leaning down to kiss your head he passed you to take his seat. "That hurts, babe."

"You're being ridiculous too." You leaned in close to Steve's ear to whisper, "it always looks good, don't worry." Once Steve looked satisfied in your response, you reluctantly turned back to your original problem. "Sorry, Tony, but that's not how it works."

"No, but listen," he began. "Did you ever see that one movie where someone got an eye transplant but then they started seeing the things that the guy before had done? It's like that." He looked at you full of anticipation of your response, appearing completely satisfied with his explanation.

"So, what? You mean to tell me that now you're gonna start hitting on Steve? Because I'm not okay with that."

"He could do a lot worse," Tony mumbled, raising his eyebrows and chuckling to himself at the thought. "But don't you worry, sweetheart. I'm not dumb enough to try to compete with you." He jumped slightly in his chair before you could respond, surprised by a loud bang in the lab on the other side of the building. "Sounds like the bro's home. Later, kids."

"That didn't sound good," you said, eyeing Steve skeptically, "don't you think that was a little...loud?"

"Maybe he's just angry about something."

"That doesn't worry you?" You leaned over for a quick kiss and stood, excusing yourself to follow behind Tony just to be sure that you were misinterpreting what you had heard. Unfortunately for the two of you, you were pretty close to the mark with your initial idea.

"I don't want to talk about this, please," Bruce said quietly, "I just want to be alone." When you entered the room you saw him on the farthest side and turned away from Tony, leaning against the table with closed fists and hunched shoulders. "Leave me alone, Tony."

Despite the gentle tone and genuine request for solitude, Tony wasn't having it, and took it upon himself to finally get to the bottom of what was happening to his best friend. "No, Banner. I'll be damned if I'm walking away. You've been a complete mess for months and I want to know why you won't let me help you. Why won't you talk to me?"

"All I do is talk, and I can't do it anymore. I talk and talk and talk and nothing changes."

"But you aren't talking to me! I was there too, you know!" Tony snapped, slamming his fist against the other end of the table from where the doctor was standing. "I'm not leaving until you get over whatever the fuck is doing this to you, and you finally talk!"

"Tony..." you warned under your breath, your eyes trained on Bruce's hands.

"What?" he spun towards you, showing you a face now filled with hurt and rage.

"You need to calm down." You held his gaze and nodded silently towards your volatile teammate. Tony followed your line of sight as you led him towards the faint green creeping its way up Banner's neck.

"Hey, there's no need for that, alright? I'll back down, okay?"

"I don't sleep," Bruce growled in a deepening voice that was building to a wall-shaking volume. "You always say you don't sleep, Stark, but I'm making you look like a narcoleptic."

Tony took several cautious steps back, holding his arm out protectively in front of you. "Go," he whispered, "get someone. Get anyone."

"Nat's on the other side of the world with Clint, so I think we might be screwed here." A fast movement caught your peripheral vision, turning in time to see Steve reaching the door with Sam. You raised a hand to stop them from entering, pushing your way past Tony's arm and closer to Bruce, despite your own better judgment. His body was shaking now and the seams of his shirt struggled to maintain their grip. "Bruce, what happens if you dehydrate p Nitro Aniline with concentrated sulphuric acid?"

"What are you doing?" Tony hissed.

"Shhh!" you replied and cracked your cane across his hand that was trying to pull you back. "Banner, tell me."

Bruce stopped abruptly and stared at you with absolute confusion, his body finally finding an eerie stillness, though continuing the struggle to find control, "uh, explosive Polymerization."

"Was that right?" Tony whispered with a harsh tap on your shoulder.

"I don't know just shut up," you spat out quickly, turning your attention back to Bruce. You didn't want to give him a chance to think about anything other than your questions to keep his mind occupied. "What makes up the catalytic triad?"

"Serine, aspartate, and histidine."

"What does ESBL stand for?"

"Extended Spectrum Beta-Lactimase."

"When is my birthday?"

Bruce opened his mouth but found no words to follow, motioning as if he were searching his mind for the numbers that eluded him now under the pressure of your glare. "I...shit, I can't remember." He lifted his hands to his face and clasped them together, holding them against his chin as he concentrated and began to look like his usual self. "It's in here somewhere..."

"How did you know that would work?" Tony sighed, waving Steve and Sam in to join you.

"I didn't," you scoffed, still cautiously watching Bruce pacing in front of you. "Steve, I think we have a problem. Do you think your guy might be a better fit?"

"I can ask. I have a session in a couple of days."

You nodded to him though not breaking your view of the doctor, "could you see if he could move it up? Look at him, Steve. He's barely holding himself together, and for him, that could be very, very...bad." Now that he looked composed, you stepped forward and took his hand in yours, waiting for him to resist, but relieved when he didn't.

"Hey, Bruce..."

"Lock me up," he said quietly and plainly with no expression and no warmth behind his eyes. He had always been a guaranteed source of comfort for anyone, just by looking in his eyes, but now they were nothing but void and dark and it sent a chill through you.

"You'll never convince anyone here to do that, and you know it."

"Thank you, (Y/N), but that was really a bad idea. You could've been hurt, again. I can't risk that, or anyone, so please lock me away."

Turning back, you saw Steve on his phone, pausing the conversation to give you a thumbs-up, signaling that he was able to get the doctor in to see his therapist as soon as they could get there. Many of the things you were seeing in Bruce, you had seen in Steve, and you could only hope that this new counsellor would finally have insight into how to help him.

That, and the hope that the Hulk would hold off on making an appearance while you and Steve were thousands of miles over open water with him on the flight over.