Chapter Text
Cairo, Egypt, 2007.
Bruce woke up with a parched throat and an aching body and no recollection of anything that had happened for the past 24 hours. He blinked his eyes open, looking around. He was on a bed, dressed in a long tan robe— a galabeya, his brain provided. A ceiling fan slowly spun above him. Light streamed through a window partially blocked by a dresser framed with off-white walls. Where was he?
Suddenly, he was hit with a flood of memories. He’d been in a small desert city in North Africa, on his way to Egypt. While leaving the market, he had been accosted by thieves, one of which had hit him in the face with a rock. Then, green. Bruce suddenly felt vaguely sick. The Other Guy had surely destroyed the whole city and killed those people without a moment of hesitation. He knew the army would be looking for him, now surely. He’d alerted them of his location and he would meet their tranquilizer darts soon enough.
Bruce let out a low groan of frustration and sat up, burying his face in his hands. He needed to go, and quickly. Before he could get up, the door opened and a tall man strode in. He had a glass of water in his hand, long red sleeves of his overcoat pulled away to reveal several silver bracelets. The man was dark-skinned, hair done in Bantu knots. He had two twin scars on opposite sides of his nose, a faintly curious expression alight in his dark eyes as he gazed down at Bruce.
“Drink,” the man ordered in Arabic. Bruce blinked, then slowly took the offered glass. He was parched, but he didn’t know if the drink had been tampered with in any way. He took a subtle sniff, squinting at the liquid before deciding it was probably fine and slowly sipped about half of the cool water.
“Thanks,” he replied back in slightly stilted Arabic, placing the glass on the bedside table. He’d been hiding in North Africa for some time now, but he unfortunately still found his Arabic to be quite lackluster. His accent and verbal awkwardness were sure to always point him out as a foreigner.
“An American,” the man stated, crossing his arms. “For your benefit, we may converse in your tongue,” he said, though not unkindly, switching to accented English.
“Oh, no it’s fine-“ Bruce stammered, only to be cut off with a tut.
“Nonsense, sir. My name is Muhammad Avdol. I found you naked in the desert and brought you to my farm to help you. You’ve been asleep for nearly twenty-eight hours. You must be hungry, sir. Come and eat.”
Bruce slowly nodded, pulling the covers off himself and rising to his feet. He wavered uncertainty for a moment before finally finding his balance. Avdol made no move to help him, something he was extremely grateful for because he didn’t know how he would react to being touched at the moment. “Um...where are we?”
“Cairo,” Avdol said, turning and making his way out of the room as Bruce shuffled after him.
Well, that was...good, he guessed. At least he had made it to his destination, even if he had to leave shortly. “Oh.”
“Where did you travel from?”
“A...uh...small town not far back.” At least, he didn’t think it was far back. “I was attacked by bandits, and I don’t know what happened.”
“It seems they robbed you clean,” Avdol commented and Bruce let out a slightly forced chuckle.
“Yeah…” he rubbed the back of his head in a sheepish manner as Avdol continued, gesturing for him to sit down at the table in what appeared to be a dining room. The Egyptian man walked into another room for a moment, returning with two plates. “For a moment I wasn't sure if you were going to return to us, but it seems the cards aligned in your favor.”
Bruce thought it was a slightly odd comment to make, but he wasn’t very concerned about it because he was more preoccupied with the aroma of food that wafted to his nostrils and reminded him just how hungry he was. “It smells delicious. What is it?” he inquired, eyeing the assortment of egg and meat and pita that was placed in front of him.
“Basturma wi baid. One would typically eat it with their hands, though I can bring you a fork if you would like. Or-“ Avdol’s voice took on a tinge of amusement. “Nevermind.”
Bruce was aware that he ate like a starved man after transformations. The sheer amount of energy that it took for him to turn into the Other Guy was ridiculous, which led to him sleeping for many hours and eating enough for three meals. What was laid in front of him was clearly not even close to enough necessary to replenish the calories that he had burned, but every bite helped.
“You're quite the voracious eater,” Avdol commented, merely watching Bruce gulp down the last of his eggs.
Bruce flushed red, briefly wringing his hands together. “I’m sorry. I haven’t been the most polite guest. I’m uh...my name’s Bruce.”
“What brings you to Cairo, Bruce?”
Bruce hesitated. He’d been on the run long enough to know not to trust just anyone who was kind to him. He couldn’t just divulge the fact he was a fugitive to anyone.
“You’re running from something, yes? Your past? You did something you regret, broke the laws of nature. You’ve become-“ Avdol paused as if considering. “- a beast?”
Bruce felt his stomach roll violently, heart jumping into his throat as he stared at the other man. Every part of him was screaming at him to flee as fast as he could before he landed himself into deep trouble. He gripped the table, eyes narrowed slightly as he asked, “And you said you’re a farmer?”
“No,” Avdol replied, a mischievous twinkle to his eyes. “This is merely my father’s farm. I’m a fortune-teller.”
Before Bruce could answer, there was a knock on the door. Avdol rose, his features schooling into something more noncommittal as he left the room.
“Hello?”
“Hello sir, we’re with the United States military,” Bruce’s heart dropped like a stone. He couldn’t move, barely dared to breathe in fear that the soldiers would somehow see him through a solid wall. He was absolutely terrified by the efficiency of Thaddeus Ross. It had been just under thirty hours and he already had men mobilized and on his track, tracing him down to the exact location that he had found refuge at. “We’ve had reports of a sighting of a fugitive in this area and we’re going door to door– figuratively speaking– looking for our man. He is about 5’8”, brown-haired, brown-eyed. American. He may be calling himself Bruce. He’s extremely dangerous.”
Avdol hmmed. If Bruce was sold out here, he was caught for sure unless he wanted to wreck his way through his host’s house. “Unfortunately, I cannot help you. My father and I live at this farm, and he’s gone on a brief trip, leaving only me. I haven’t seen the man you are describing. Good day.”
Bruce let out a long breath, some of the tension leaving from his shoulders. He knew he wasn’t in the clear yet, but at least Avdol was an ally.
“Your neighbors told us that they saw you arrive back home with another man less than 2 days ago and that the man hasn’t left.”
“My neighbors are mistaken. I’ve done no such thing.”
“Do you mind if we check your house?”
“Yes, of course, I mind. I must ask you to leave my property. You’ve asked your questions. Your American friend is not here.”
“Look, buddy, I’m getting real tired of your shit,” the soldier interrogating Avdol growled in English, and there was grunting and a shout of indignant surprise and anger as the group presumably forced their way into the house.
“Fan out.”
Shit. Bruce bolted down the short hallway, slipping into his room unnoticed as the altercation continued in the foyer of the small house.
“You will do no such thing,” Avdol said harshly, voice raised slightly. “What gives you the right to come into my father’s property?”
There were more angry voices as the lead soldier and Avdol exchanged words, but Bruce was more preoccupied with trying to push the dresser in front of the window out of the way so that he could make a hasty escape.
The distinct sound of a door swinging open made him whip around and he immediately cursed himself and his luck and every god that did or did not exist.
“Come with us nice and easy, Banner, and maybe we don’t charge your friend for obstruction of justice,” said a soldier, hands steady on the trigger of the tranquilizer gun as he glowered at the brunet.
“I’m not sure that’s how it works,” Bruce retorted sharply, taking a small step back as he edged away.
“Magician’s Red!”
Suddenly, the room was like a sauna, and only growing hotter. Avdol stood in the doorway, arms crossed as he scowled at the soldier opposing Bruce. The Egyptian pointed past Bruce and suddenly the window shattered open and the fugitive dove out of the room like flames were licking his ass.
He never thought about the mysterious heatwave or the fact that Avdol hadn’t even broken a sweat despite the fact it was surely over 100°F in that room. He didn’t question the broken window or the gust of air past his ear that had accompanied it. He didn’t even want to know about the mysterious smell of smoke that had lingered on his clothes for the rest of the day.
As long as he had gotten away, he didn’t care about the circumstances. So what if Avdol seemed to be some sort of pyrokinetic mutant? He’d saved his life and given him food, so he couldn’t complain.
The next week, Bruce prepared to go to South America.