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kat_lair***
Title: Tether
Author:kat_lair
Fandom: MCU
Pairing: Bruce, Tony
Tags: Ficlet, Nightmares
Rating: G
Word count: 607
Disclaimer: Not mine!
Summary: Bruce wakes up screaming.
Author notes: Spooktober 2023, Day 29/31. Prompt/theme: nightmare.
Tether on AO3
Bruce wakes up screaming. No sound escapes. His mouth is clamped shut, teeth grinding together, the tendons on his neck taut. His heels are digging into the mattress, his back bowed, every muscle locked, the memory of pain, of being caged, slow to fade. Inside, Hulk is pushing at the surface, not because he’s trying to break free but because he wants to check that Bruce is still there, back to himself again, to keep him in check.
“We’re alright,” Bruce whispers. “We’re alright.”
Little by little, his body believes it, air coming more easily at every inhale. He sits up, toes curling into the rug as he rubs a hand over his face. The clock on the bedside table reads 03.48. Close enough to the morning. Somewhere in the world, the sun is always rising.
Bruce finds clothes in the dark, yesterday’s long-sleeved t-shirt, soft yoga pants he, unironically, does yoga in, much to Tony’s amusement. He foregoes shoes. The floor is never cold in the Tower, not compared to what he’s used to, and right now he needs to feel the texture of carpets and tile and laminate against his feet, to help his body stay in the reality. Actual ground, stones and dirt and grass, would be better but for that he’d have to either head to the roof garden or leave the Tower, and he doesn’t want to do either.
Besides, there’s something he needs more, something that will ground him better than earth beneath his feet, that’s found inside the Tower, not outside it.
Bruce makes his way through silent corridors, the lift doors opening automatically in invitation. Jarvis doesn’t ask where he’s going, simply picking the location he needs. If Tony had been in his penthouse, the lift would be heading up. That they’re going down toward the labs tells Bruce that he’s not the only one having trouble sleeping tonight.
The lights are dimmed, but it’s easy to spot Tony anyway. He’s hunched over a workbench, something that looks like a car engine spread all over it. He does that sometimes, takes apart something that doesn’t need it, for no other reason than to be able to put it together again, like a puzzle that’s familiar, not difficult but intricate enough to demand his attention and keep his mind busy. As escapism goes, it’s a thousand times better than what Tony’s used in the past.
The sound of the door sliding open pulls Tony from his task and he swivels around in his chair as Bruce walks in. He too is dressed for comfort, which for Tony means old jeans with more holes than what’s good for Bruce’s peace of mind and a Lynyrd Skynyrd band shirt, the writing on it worn out almost fully in places.
“Hey, Brucie,” Tony says. He visibly takes in Bruce’s outfit, his bare feet, the bags Bruce knows are under his eyes, and doesn’t ask any questions. Instead, he just pats the empty chair next to him.
Bruce takes a seat, and the pair of pliers Tony hands him. They stay like that until the morning, until Jarvis raises the shutters on the windows and lets sunlight in, working on the engine. It doesn’t need the work, but they do.
They need this too, the warmth of their legs pressed against each other under the table, the feel of their arms brushing, hands and fingers intertwining, moving in a synchronised dance over tools and bolts and valves. It’s a connection to the present, keeping away memories and ‘what ifs’, a tether to the here and now that holds them in the moment. Together.
***
Title: Tether
Author:
kat_lair Fandom: MCU
Pairing: Bruce, Tony
Tags: Ficlet, Nightmares
Rating: G
Word count: 607
Disclaimer: Not mine!
Summary: Bruce wakes up screaming.
Author notes: Spooktober 2023, Day 29/31. Prompt/theme: nightmare.
Tether on AO3
Bruce wakes up screaming. No sound escapes. His mouth is clamped shut, teeth grinding together, the tendons on his neck taut. His heels are digging into the mattress, his back bowed, every muscle locked, the memory of pain, of being caged, slow to fade. Inside, Hulk is pushing at the surface, not because he’s trying to break free but because he wants to check that Bruce is still there, back to himself again, to keep him in check.
“We’re alright,” Bruce whispers. “We’re alright.”
Little by little, his body believes it, air coming more easily at every inhale. He sits up, toes curling into the rug as he rubs a hand over his face. The clock on the bedside table reads 03.48. Close enough to the morning. Somewhere in the world, the sun is always rising.
Bruce finds clothes in the dark, yesterday’s long-sleeved t-shirt, soft yoga pants he, unironically, does yoga in, much to Tony’s amusement. He foregoes shoes. The floor is never cold in the Tower, not compared to what he’s used to, and right now he needs to feel the texture of carpets and tile and laminate against his feet, to help his body stay in the reality. Actual ground, stones and dirt and grass, would be better but for that he’d have to either head to the roof garden or leave the Tower, and he doesn’t want to do either.
Besides, there’s something he needs more, something that will ground him better than earth beneath his feet, that’s found inside the Tower, not outside it.
Bruce makes his way through silent corridors, the lift doors opening automatically in invitation. Jarvis doesn’t ask where he’s going, simply picking the location he needs. If Tony had been in his penthouse, the lift would be heading up. That they’re going down toward the labs tells Bruce that he’s not the only one having trouble sleeping tonight.
The lights are dimmed, but it’s easy to spot Tony anyway. He’s hunched over a workbench, something that looks like a car engine spread all over it. He does that sometimes, takes apart something that doesn’t need it, for no other reason than to be able to put it together again, like a puzzle that’s familiar, not difficult but intricate enough to demand his attention and keep his mind busy. As escapism goes, it’s a thousand times better than what Tony’s used in the past.
The sound of the door sliding open pulls Tony from his task and he swivels around in his chair as Bruce walks in. He too is dressed for comfort, which for Tony means old jeans with more holes than what’s good for Bruce’s peace of mind and a Lynyrd Skynyrd band shirt, the writing on it worn out almost fully in places.
“Hey, Brucie,” Tony says. He visibly takes in Bruce’s outfit, his bare feet, the bags Bruce knows are under his eyes, and doesn’t ask any questions. Instead, he just pats the empty chair next to him.
Bruce takes a seat, and the pair of pliers Tony hands him. They stay like that until the morning, until Jarvis raises the shutters on the windows and lets sunlight in, working on the engine. It doesn’t need the work, but they do.
They need this too, the warmth of their legs pressed against each other under the table, the feel of their arms brushing, hands and fingers intertwining, moving in a synchronised dance over tools and bolts and valves. It’s a connection to the present, keeping away memories and ‘what ifs’, a tether to the here and now that holds them in the moment. Together.
***