Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Avengers
Despite the suffocating humidity of the Congo jungle, Bruce woke up feeling refreshed.
Until he noticed the knife on his throat.
Bruce tensed immediately. He was still lying down under the blanket he shared with Harry. But Harry was nowhere around. From his angle he could not see the face or hands of his attacker. He only hoped Harry was away, and that his attacker was alone.
"There are somethings we need to discuss Mr. Banner." a cold voice said calmly behind him. A familiar voice. It lacked its usual whimsical tone, but Bruce would recognize it anywhere.
"Harry?" Bruce asked cautiously. The pressure on the knife eased up a little so he could move his neck. When he looked down Bruce recognized the pocket knife he had bought in Brazil. When he looked up he saw…Harry?
But not Harry. Harry's eyes never seemed so alert. He usually carried this far away expression. And Harry's face was never expressionless. His Harry could never hide anything. Harry always lit up when he looked at Bruce. But right now he was so… cold.
"You're not Harry." Bruce stated. Bruce said this is a matter of fact way, because he knew it was true. This was Harry's face and Harry's body, but this was not Harry.
"You are a genius. Aren't you?" This non-Harry said in a mocking tone with a cruel smirk that didn't look natural with Harry's features.
"What have you done with him!?" Bruce demanded. He was breathing harshly and could feel the pressure of anger raging inside of him. He was worried about Harry, his Harry, and losing control because of it.
Bruce wanted this fool to slit his throat, knowing it would bring out the other guy. The rational part of him knew he had to stay in control of himself. If this wasn't some sort of clone, then it was still Harry's body, and the other guy would kill him. But the rage was quickly clouding his judgment.
The Harry clone only laughed at him. "Let me end this poor show of control for you." he whispered tauntingly in Bruce's ear right before pulling Bruce's head back harshly and bringing the knife down across his throat.
Bruce barely had time to experience the pain and panic of choking on his own blood before the other guy took over.
When Bruce woke it was nighttime. He was still in his and Harry's tent under the blanket they shared.
Had it all been a nightmare?
But then he noticed it. He was naked. He always slept with his clothes when he was with Harry. And he had been clothed when he last woke up. Bruce worried about where Harry was, if he was back to normal, and if he was alright. Please let him be alright.
As Bruce scrambled out of the tent he noticed something crusted on his groin. It was…semen?
What the hell had happened?
Bruce made his way outside just in time to notice Harry coming into the clearing from the brush. It was pitch dark out, except for the lantern that Harry carried with him. He was wearing the same oversize t-shirt and shorts that he had on when Bruce had last seen him. Harry looked up at him. His expression looked worried, but it was a Harry look. Who ever had been here this morning was gone and his Harry was back. He would worry about the sudden associative identity disorder later, when he knew Harry was okay.
As Bruce got closer, his stomach sank. Harry was walking with an obvious limp. And Bruce could see bruising on his shoulder where his shirt hung off.
Bruce wasn't stupid. He could put two and two together just fine. He had raped Harry. The semen on him, the limping and the bruising, and when he looked a bit closer Bruce could tell that the worry on Harry's face was one step from fear. Fear of Bruce.
It was a horrifying thought. Bruce knew he could be a murderer when the rage took over. He had been one several times on the past. He had come to terms with evil inside himself. Bruce had chosen to fight it as much as possible, once he gave up on escaping it, to minimize the damage he caused to the world, until he finally died. But rape had never been something he thought he was capable of.
It was demoralizing to Bruce know that he had sunk further then he thought was possible for himself.
Bruce had stopped advancing. He knew that Harry should hate him now. It had always a been selfish desire that had led Bruce to let Harry travel with him. He knew that one day he would hurt Harry, he just didn't think it would be like this.
Bruce had been so lost in his throat that he hadn't realized that Harry had continued toward him and was now standing right in front of him.
"Are you alright?" Harry asked concerned.
Concerned? He should be afraid of Bruce. But Harry didn't look afraid. He just handed Bruce a pair of pants to put on. Bruce quickly pulled on the pants, not wanting his nudity to remind Harry of his ordeal. Bruce didn't know how to proceed. Harry obviously didn't realize that what had happened to him was bad.
"W..Why don't you hate me?"Bruce questioned softly.
Harry just looked at him in confusion, his brow creasing further in worry.
"I could never hate you, Bruce." Harry said with a smile, as if explaining something simple to a child.
Bruce was relieved. It was comforting that Harry's innocent mind was probably incapable of hating Bruce. Even if Harry didn't know it Bruce had done something he knew was unforgivable. They'd traveled through villages together in the Congo and had seen the damage that rape does, even after the body had healed. Bruce had treated many rape victims since entering the area while assisting red cross members and village doctors as he and Harry passed through a settlement.
Not only that, but Bruce was concerned about the sudden appearance of a very violent alternate personality. He knew he wouldn't have Harry institutionalized. And while Bruce didn't relish the thought of having his throat slit open again, he knew he would stay with Harry as long as he was wanted. Even if that meant putting up with Harry's sudden acts of violence. Overall Harry was still less dangerous than Bruce.
"Harry, are you hurt?" Bruce asked slowly. He already knew the answer, but needed to confirm his suspicions.
"Not really. Just a little sore. You were very gentle." Harry answered bluntly. He looked a little unsure as he continued. "I'm sorry about Tom. The dark magic in this jungle is making him crazy. We should leave soon. I don't like it here much either."
"Who is Tom?" Bruce asked confused.
"Tom is Tom." Harry said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Harry crawled into their tent and lay down under the blanket. Bruce followed him unsure of whether he and Harry should still sleep together. He never got to make a decision. Harry pulled him down and covered him with the blanket, before snuggling up on Bruce's chest. Bruce was stiff at first, and felt more uncomfortable than the first night he and Harry had slept together.
They lay there in the dark for several minutes. As tired as Bruce was as he usually is after the other guy comes out, he couldn't relax enough to fall asleep. The guilt was eating at him. He had hurt the only person in this world who cared about him.
"Relax, Bruce." Harry whispered in his ear. "We're okay."
"I'm so sorry, Harry"
"I hurt you" Bruce continue when Harry didn't answer.
"We aren't mad."
That wasn't a denial.
Several more minutes passed in silence, where the only noise was the sound of the jungle outside. Harry had tensed up like Bruce, after their talk, but a bit relaxed as he started to speak.
"Let me tell you a story of a great wizard. He was a hero. He saved the world, but no one knew what he sacrificed to protect people. In the end the people he saved only knew him for being a dangerous man, who betrayed and killed his mentor, one of the greatest wizards who ever lived. It all started years ago when he was a child and saw a little girl with bright green eyes do a little magic…"
As the story continued Bruce began to relax until he fell asleep. Harry's voice was soft and soothing. He was always weaving stories of wizards and unicorns and thestrals. They often featured deep and complicated characters, that sometimes made Bruce question how made up they were. There was always some underlying message to Harry's stories. He didn't always know what the message was, but Bruce knew this one.
He was forgiven.