A/N: Yes, I'm writing a similar story for another fandom right now, but this popped into my head last night and now I can't get it out. Hopefully I'll manage to update the two of them at a similar pace.

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In Recovery
Prologue

It wasn't the fact that he'd gotten so angry that he'd managed to black out with rage. Nor was it the fact he was now in a cubicle of the emergency room, in nothing but a pair of boxers. No, what the problem was is this kept happening with Bruce. There's only so many times you can put yourself, and others, in danger before they decide something's not quite right, and you find these people signing your life away. Or, the next indefinite amount of time. The hospital had shoved him into one of their taxis and sent him off, his upset mother promising she would be by later with a bag if needed and to take care of himself. He hated seeing his mother upset, even if it was less often than when his father had been around. He was pretty sure the reason she still kept crying was down to him.

One assessment with the on-duty psychatricst and Bruce Banner had been deemed a danger to himself, and became the newest patient on the adolescent ward of the Shield Phsyciatric Facility. On being given the news, he found himself seeing red and had to be given some time to cool down while the paperwork was being filled in. His monther arrived with a large bag later, went to another room with the psych and another doctor, came out crying again and looked over at the boy. She came over and sat with him for a while, her hands folded neatly in her lap.

"I'll be okay. It's okay."

The words came out as a croak. His mother sniffed, nodded and promised to come visit him at the weekend. Within minutes she was gone, and here he was. Left in the care of this strange, new place. One of the orderlies, a beaming man with a booming voice, came to collect him and show him to his new room. Moving onto the ward, he was accompanied by one of the other psychiatrists. He introduced himself as Doctor Coulson, and Bruce wasn't surprised when he didn't offer his hand to shake. As he was led into the ward and down cream halls with linoleum floor, his shoes scuffing along every so often and making a squeaking noise, he checked around. The halls were mostly empty, which was slightly unnerving. Coulson seemed to pick up on this fast.

"It's a Tuesday afternoon. Most of the people on the ward will be in group right now, and should be back in around half an hour."

Bruce just nodded, wanting to get to his room and unpack. The bag seemed heavy on his arm, and so much had changed since 4am that morning. When he was finally at the door of room 7, he was told that patients were picked up from the ward for dinner, curfew was 10.30pm, doors can't be locked, a doctor would be with him tomorrow to discuss a timetable, take this afternoon and evening to settle in, thank you and goodbye. Also he had a room mate called Tony who could be a handful, don't worry too much about it.

Shield wasn't the most intimidating of places. Bruce had found himself in enough hospitals over the years, and some of them hadn't been the nicest. Mostly the ones where the doctors were afraid of touching him, fully understanding where his bruises and cuts had come from, but didn't want to be the person to breach that topic. Sometimes he'd have to talk to a social worker and sometimes he would stay with someone else for a couple of days, but it was always the same. Well, until his father had finally walked out when he was thirteen. Hard to believe he and his mother had been without the tyrant for three years now, but it was obvious that the two of them still worried that one day he'd reappear and want back in, and they'd be powerless to stop it.

Letting himself into the room, Bruce sighed and pushed his bag against the foot of the bed. It was nothing remarkable; two beds, two sets of drawers, two bedside cabinets and painted mint green. His room mate wasn't there, and he slowly unpacked his belongings, assuming it would be fine to use the empty drawers. The other wall had scribbles blu-tacked to it; blueprints, drawings of machinery, and the occassional magazine article. Whoever else shared this place, he had been here a while and probably spent the majority of it away from the other patients, keeping to himself and his own interests. It seemed odd to decorate a hospital room if you weren't going to be there for some time.

It wasn't long until he met Tony. More, Tony barged past him and into the room, threw himself onto the bed facing the wall and didn't speak. Barely even moved. Bruce watched the other boy pull the ratty grey hoodie tighter to his body, clearly trying to make a point of saying not to go near him. Outside, someone was talking loudly about how they didn't know what set him off this time, he needs to step down and just stop it. They don't sound very pleased. Seemed to be another patient as well. Tony continued to stay still, probably trying to send himself to sleep. Perhaps group really was that bad.

Well, it's not like Bruce came here to make friends anyway. Perhaps he could get a short nap in before the orderlies and nurses came to take the ward to the dining hall. He finished setting his small stack of notebooks on the cabinet beside the bed, pulled back the startchy hospital-issue sheets and slid between the covers. Hopefully, the stay wouldn't be too long.