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Title: Brazil
Author: Evandar
Fandom: Incredible Hulk
Rating: G
Genre: Gen/Angst
Disclaimer: I do not own The Incredible Hulk and am making no profit from this story.
Summary: He loses himself in obscurity, but never thinks he's not hunted.
Author's Notes: Written for my GenPrompt Bingo table for the prompt 'South America'.
He’s a complete outsider here, but he feels safe. Very safe. He’s one person in a million; one person in a tangled maze of narrow streets and tall buildings. He’s never tried learning Portuguese before, but it’s not too late to learn, and he manages to pick up a battered dictionary in a tiny shop for a few pesos.
Most of the shops here are tiny. They’re cosy little inlets into the ground floor of peoples’ houses. The restaurants too. It’s oddly intimate, going into a place and knowing that people live and sleep just above – though the restaurants and cafés spill out onto the streets as well, flooding the narrow spaces with chairs and delicious smells.
He finds a job that doesn’t require him to talk. He’s able-bodied and that’s all that counts, so he’s hired for the factory on the spot. It’s…well, it’s hardly a professorship in a university, but learning how to fix machinery in a completely different language is taxing enough for his brain to stop him from getting bored.
He lives off rice and beans and churros; cheap beer and bottled water. He takes up capoeira and meditation, watches kids’ TV with dictionary in hand, and he loses himself in obscurity.
But he never relaxes, and he never thinks he’s not hunted, and he never, ever gives up hope of a cure.
Author: Evandar
Fandom: Incredible Hulk
Rating: G
Genre: Gen/Angst
Disclaimer: I do not own The Incredible Hulk and am making no profit from this story.
Summary: He loses himself in obscurity, but never thinks he's not hunted.
Author's Notes: Written for my GenPrompt Bingo table for the prompt 'South America'.
He’s a complete outsider here, but he feels safe. Very safe. He’s one person in a million; one person in a tangled maze of narrow streets and tall buildings. He’s never tried learning Portuguese before, but it’s not too late to learn, and he manages to pick up a battered dictionary in a tiny shop for a few pesos.
Most of the shops here are tiny. They’re cosy little inlets into the ground floor of peoples’ houses. The restaurants too. It’s oddly intimate, going into a place and knowing that people live and sleep just above – though the restaurants and cafés spill out onto the streets as well, flooding the narrow spaces with chairs and delicious smells.
He finds a job that doesn’t require him to talk. He’s able-bodied and that’s all that counts, so he’s hired for the factory on the spot. It’s…well, it’s hardly a professorship in a university, but learning how to fix machinery in a completely different language is taxing enough for his brain to stop him from getting bored.
He lives off rice and beans and churros; cheap beer and bottled water. He takes up capoeira and meditation, watches kids’ TV with dictionary in hand, and he loses himself in obscurity.
But he never relaxes, and he never thinks he’s not hunted, and he never, ever gives up hope of a cure.
