The Keeper of Infinity

Illusions but So Real

July 23, 2025; 12.15 pm; Mexico

It was a hot day. The air was filled with humidity and Bruce had always been a little more prone to sweating than his contemporaries, regardless of what kind of weather it was.

He fanned himself with the rim of his t-shirt as he continued skimming the contents of the digital page on his tabloid, making a few mental notes and some written ones in the comments section of the document. Yet another yawn threatened to pass before he suppressed it with the adeptness of an experienced man as he forced his eyelids to stay open.

It had been four, or was it five, days since he had had a good night's sleep — or any night's sleep, really.

He should probably try getting some rest for the next few hours, even though the Sun was up and bright still. Well, it was a good thing Bruce had never been accused of maintaining healthy routines.

And it wasn't that bad anyway. Tony was way worse—

He abruptly straightened up, the stylus pen slipping through his fingers and meeting the marble top with a small thud, disturbing the quietness of the kitchen. He slid his glasses off before pinching the bridge of his nose. A sigh fell, long and deep and exhausted.

It had been two years, and he still hadn't been able to get over what happened, nor had he been able to accept the reality completely.

He probably would never. With each dreadful day that passed, he realised more and more how futile his attempts were at forgetting the one man who had given him something nobody else had managed to.

Unconditional acceptance.

Tony had never been scared of his other side, even when he had been, even when Natasha had been.

And oh, Natasha! The less said about that, the better.

The woman hadn't deserved such an ending, none of them had.

The worst part was all three of them, even when they were on the verge of dying, had taken a moment to assure whoever was with them — in Tony's case: everybody — that they'd be fine; that they didn't regret anything; that that was what they wanted.

Tony. Nat. Vision.

Bruce's best friend. Bruce's...more than just a friend. Bruce's child of sorts.

All gone. Only because he hadn't been strong, because the Hulk hadn't been enough.

If only...if only he had been able to defeat Thanos back on that Asgardian ship; if only he had not been afraid of the giant; perhaps, they would have been here, amongst them. Where they belonged.

It hadn't been their time yet.

It hadn't.

Bruce didn't realise when his vision blurred and tears started trickling down his cheeks until the whistle of the teapot went off, the low shrill sound filling the silent air. He hastily wiped at his eyes as he rummaged through one of the upper cabinets for a tea-dip.

It was probably due to his muddled brain, still reeling from the sudden onslaught of not-good emotions, or his own absent-mindedness, but it took him longer than typical to grab hold of his special chamomile tea dips.

Shutting the cabinet close with a bone-deep sigh, he turned around, his eyes downcasted on the teapot when footsteps sounded nearby and he paused.

Really? An intruder? In the Hulk's house, of all places?

He shook his head dryly, raising his head up when the person entered the kitchen only to take a step back with shock.

Or rather, he wanted to take a step back with shock but he found himself frozen to his place, his legs refusing to comply with his brain.