#trucey

Rockefeller Square during the holidays was gorgeous. A massive Christmas tree bedecked in lights and jewel tone ornaments stood in the center of it, wire structure light displays of angels with outstretched wings and trumpets and stars surrounded it, and large wreaths were hung on the neighboring buildings. Instrumental holiday songs were being played in anticipation of the event about to take place. The air was crisp and cool and so unlike the little Argentinian hideout Bruce had been holed up in for the past two months that he almost appreciated the excessive warmth of the oversized wool coat, knit cap, and scarf wrapped around his face – necessary only to hide it.

Bruce watched from his corner seat as a little girl in a soft blue peacoat carrying a stuffed likeness of the Hulk hurried across the brickway to meet her father, who reached out for her hand as she and her mother got in line. She leaned over her daughter's head to quickly peck her husband on the lips.

The whole thing turned his stomach and his hands worked not to clutch at the paper cup of coffee too tight and crush it. The Hulk deserved no toy, no recognition. Were they not aware of the destruction done by that creature less than two months ago at his very location? The scaffolding used for repairs was still up, just well hidden. Plastic sheets still covered the windows of surrounding buildings – so many windows destroyed there weren’t enough in stock to replace them all at once.

He could close his eyes and see his own hands – warped and green and larger than life but still his – as they tore through brick and concrete, tore out desks and threw them to the ground, heedless, mindless of the brutal destruction he’d caused. How was that admirable? No image of his, no matter how diminutive, stuffed, and... and “cute,” deserved to be here. Who would want it anyway? No one could love such a monster.

{Continue on AO3 or FF.net}