Rain slicked the pavement. The alley was dark and quiet — the kind of quiet that only comes after a fight.

Bruce Banner hadn’t meant to walk this way. He was heading back from the lab, coffee in hand, hoodie pulled up, trying to avoid attention. But something had caught his eye. A flash of movement. A smear of red.

And then he saw you.

Curled in the shadow between two dumpsters. Hoodie torn, blood streaked down your arm. You were trying — and failing — to patch yourself up with a stolen first aid kit.

He froze for half a second.

You froze, too.

You looked up, breath ragged. Wide-eyed. Like a trapped animal.

“…Don’t,” you rasped. “Don’t come closer.”

Bruce slowly raised both hands, setting the coffee down on the ground. “Okay. I won’t. I just want to help.”

You were bleeding. Your hands trembled as you tried to tape gauze to your side. Too much blood. Too much pain.

“You’re with them,” you muttered. “Avengers. SHIELD. Whoever. You’ve been trying to find me.”

“I know,” he said gently. “But I’m not here for that. I was walking. I saw you. That’s all.”

You didn’t answer. Just winced and turned your face away, frustrated, exhausted, trying to breathe through the pain.

Bruce stayed where he was, kneeling now but still a few feet away. “I’m a doctor,” he said softly. “Not the kind with a badge. Just… someone who helps people. Let me help you. Please.”

You glanced at him again. His voice wasn’t fake. It wasn’t soft just to get you to drop your guard.

It was real.

You didn’t speak. But you didn’t stop him when he slowly moved closer.

“I’m going to look at your side,” he said. “Okay?”

“…Yeah,” you whispered.

He gently pulled the fabric up, examining the gash along your ribs. “You stitched this yourself?”

“Had to.”

“You did a good job,” he said, voice calm and steady. “But it’s not enough. This needs cleaning and sealing — properly. I’ve got a med bag back at my place, five blocks from here. No tower. No cameras. No SHIELD.”

Your breath hitched. “Why are you helping me?”

Bruce looked at you with quiet sincerity. “Because you’re hurt. Because no one else is here. And because I know what it’s like to run from people who say they want to ‘contain’ you.”

That silenced you.

The rain kept falling, quiet against the metal. You stared at him. The man who turned into a monster when pushed. But there was nothing monstrous in him now — just patience.

“…If you try anything—”

“You can knock me out cold,” he said with a faint smile. “I won’t fight back.”

You gave the smallest nod.

Bruce carefully helped you to your feet. You staggered, and he steadied you with one arm — warm, solid, but gentle. He didn’t say anything when you leaned into him, just a little.

“Let’s get you patched up,” he said softly. “One step at a time.”