The Scavengers: A Narrative Fiction

What Banner had said, what he had revealed, didn’t register until Loki spoke. Until he put two and two together. Unlike the magician’s placid exterior, the scientist revealed the wild storm raving inside in an exasperated jab against the graffiti, hard steel. The fresh onslaught of pain jolted the idle beast inside with an increased heart-rate, but coming to his feet still in his own flesh, his own mind or what he thought, the human began to pace. He’d be lying to himself if he thought the pain hurt, if it mattered, the truth was, however, he felt nothing – physical pain losing its meaning a long time ago, along with his humanity.

He meant to have replied with a jest, something to ease the volcano boiling in each of them, erase the contempt and fear they had for each other -- the contempt and fear he had for himself. Instead, he spoke the truth he reserved on rare occasions – Tony or Betty
Even in the unlikeliest of creatures, Bruce was reminded of how isolated he’d always be; how one day he might be where Loki sat, close to death’s door with no one in sight to miss nor mourn for him. And the more he tried to suppress the truth, the harder it became to ignore it. He thought that the Avengers were best without him. No more casualties of wars or the “sun’s getting real low” junk. No more worrying about Bruce’s morale killing or panics attacks. And the more he blamed himself, the further he sank -- until it felt as if the grief choked out all of his air. But for a monster who couldn’t die, it felt like hell.

“If you must know, I left because—“ Why had Bruce left? He could have thought a million excuse as to why, but none of them satisfied the truth that was trying to lash out. None of them could have probably tricked the greatest trickster, anyway. Lies required precision, not misery, which he was soaring high as a kite on. “I left because they remind me what I am – not human. Better to have left before they see me the way I see