Hey, Loser! Catch!
There was this thing about Parker luck. It fucking sucked. Or that was what Ben used to say, back when he would smile and bat away May’s disapproving scowl and beam at Peter’s laughter.
Back when he was alive.
And yes, Ben might be dead, but in Peter’s mind, it just worked to prove Ben was right.
Because Peter was a Parker.
And his luck fucking sucked. Don’t believe it? Well, listen to this.
There was this saying that originated with Bruce Banner but everyone automatically associated with the Hulk. It started as a warning, as a sort of verbal alarm that hinted that Bruce was close to losing control.
In the beginning (back when baby Peter Parker was still learning how to walk and chewing on soggy cheerios), people had heeded the warning. They’d back off, give Bruce some space, and hopefully everything turned out alright.
But then the Avengers were formed, the Hulk began to be associated with something more than terror and destruction, and people learned to actually be grateful that they had a not-so-jolly green giant around to fight the three headed monsters that tended to pop up out of portals or petri dishes or wherever the gateway to Hell happened to be that week.
Now, fast forward to 2019 and that once infamous warning had somehow lost its initial impact. At least, as far as the general public was concerned. A quick Google search and you’d find a variable array of t-shirts, bumper stickers, keychains, and coffee mugs all with the words “you wouldn’t like me when I’m angry” emblazoned on the front.
Most of the time, it was just a marketing gimmick, a way for capitalism to cash in on the fact that one of Earth’s mightiest heroes was a giant green rage machine. It wasn’t like with Captain America or Iron Man, where they could show a face and people were happy.
The Hulk usually came with a lot of collateral, and it would take a bit of ironic manipulation to make people accept it.
That and memes.
People loved memes, and a hashtag worthy not-quite-a-catch phrase was perfect.
Of course, that only worked with people who didn’t actually know Bruce Banner and had never had the misfortune of actually meeting the Hulk.
Those who did know where smart enough to take the phrase for what it was. A warning.
Even Tony Stark knew there was a limit, only so far he could go with the poking and the prodding and the general pissing off of the good doctor.
And while Peter Parker had never actually met the Hulk, he was smart enough to know he’d probably like it a lot better that way.
Besides, Dr. Banner was cool.
Which was why Peter didn’t let his feelings get hurt when he walked in on a Saturday morning only to have Bruce completely ignore his greeting.
“Don’t take it personally, kid,” Tony advised. “Brucie’s feeling a little…I think it’s best we just give him a little space this weekend. Understand?”
And Peter did. Not necessarily because Tony had oh so elegantly asked him to, but more because Peter could see the skin around Bruce’s collar taking on a greenish tinge anytime anyone got too close.
“Maybe a lot of space,” Tony amended, because he could see it, too.
Peter let Tony steer him in the opposite direction. “Is he gonna be okay?”
“Oh yeah. It’s just he’s got the Hulk taking up real estate in his head, and you know how roommates are. He just needs to eat some fiber, take a nap, listen to some Yanni. He’ll be fine.”
And if Tony wasn’t worried, then there was no reason for Peter to be worried. Right? Wasn’t that what everyone kept telling him?
It must have been, because Saturday turned to Sunday and Bruce’s countenance seemed to morph into something a bit more Bruce-ier and a little less green, and by the time Peter was ready to head back to Queens, Bruce was actually smiling again.
So Peter forgot about it.
Which, looking back, probably wasn’t the best move. But to be fair, everyone else seemed to have forgotten about it too.
But they didn’t have Parker luck.
They also didn’t have a curfew.
Peter did though. So did Spider-Man, at least he did on school nights. And the following Wednesday was very much a school night.
But Peter had already missed his curfew, so…
Generally speaking, he usually stuck to Queens. But every so often, something completely out of his control would shake things up, and push him out of his designated neighborhood comfort zone.
And that was exactly what happened this dark, and late (way too late, May was gonna be pissed) Wednesday night.
It was nearing two in the morning, the majority of Manhattan’s citizens were tucked away somewhere that wasn’t the middle of the streets, but New York wasn’t known as the city that never slept for nothing.
Despite the earlier rain and late hour, several people still meandered about, trying to avoid puddles as the lights of the city reflected off the wet sidewalks.
Peter looked down on the scene below him and allowed a small smile as he watched the police attempt to break through the webbing that was currently securing an annoyingly crafty pair of car thieves to a light pole.
“Alright, Karen,” Peter muttered. He stood and stretched his arm, twisting so his back popped, “Guess we can call it a night. Think we can bribe May to ignore the whole curfew thing?”
“You can try, but I feel I should remind you that it did not work last time,” Karen pointed out.
Peter groaned and walked further down the roof. “Yeah, you don’t have to remind me.”
He was just about to jump when Karen’s calm voice asked, “Should I call you a cab?”
Peter stopped, arm outstretched, wrist cocked, and frowned. “No….why would I need a cab?”
“You are almost out of web fluid,” Karen explained, and since she was nothing less than thorough, she made sure to display a digital representation of his web canisters on his view finder. It was bright red, with the words “critically low” flashing to the left.
Shit.
“Why didn’t you tell me?!” Peter hissed, popping one of the canisters loose and frowning at it. He pulled it close to his ear and shook it. It made a little whisper sound, hinting that it wasn’t completely empty, just really, really, really close to it.
“I just did,” Karen exclaimed, sounding defensive and way too human. “You had an adequate amount of fluid left five minutes ago.”
Peter leaned over the edge of the roof and looked at the admittedly excessive amount of webbing wrapped around the two thieves below. Cringing, he popped the canister back in place. “Okay, new rule. Give me a head’s up when it’s a quarter empty.”
“Noted,” she replied. There were about four seconds of heavy silence before she asked, “Would you like me to call a cab now?”
“No.” Not only did he not have the cash for a taxi from Manhattan to Queens, he also did not have the self-confidence to survive the social media backlash the act would no doubt elicit.
“Would you like me to call May?”
“Hell no.”
“What would you like me to do?”
Now wasn’t that a good question? But Peter had a better one. “How much web fluid do I have left?”
Karen answered by showing him another digital diagram of the canisters and the liquids still inside.
Peter tilted his head, did a little math, and squinted. “You think I can make it five blocks?”
“I think you can make it three.”
And yeah, that was a hell of a lot better than a no, because while Queens was clear on the other side of the river, Avengers Tower was just a few blocks away.
Five blocks to be exact.
Peter had learned a lot since meeting Tony Stark, but one of the things that stuck out the most was “work smarter, not harder, kid.”
And that’s exactly what Peter did.
He jumped to the next roof over, slid down a drain pipe, and scaled his way down a fire escape before hopping oh so gently onto the roof of a passing taxi (free of charge) that just happened to be heading in the direction Peter needed to go.
Okay, it might not have been heading straight for 200 Park Avenue, but it was pretty damn close.
Peter waited until the car slowed at a red light, flicked his wrist and used the last remaining bit of his webbing to round the corner and scale to the top of the tower.
He didn’t need a key or a code, hadn’t for a long time. F.R.I.D.A.Y had a standing order to let him in, no matter the hour, no questions asked.
It came in handy.
He landed on the terrace, walked through the slowly opening door, and pulled off his mask. It was dark, but that wasn’t too surprising considering it was past two in the morning.
No, what was surprising was F.R.I.D.A.Y announcing that not only was Tony Stark not in the tower, he wasn’t even in the city.
“Seriously?”
“Boss had a meeting in D.C.” she informed him, and okay now that Peter thought about it he vaguely remembered Tony complaining about “government assholes” the weekend before.
But just because the king of the castle wasn’t home didn’t mean Peter was alone. That became very apparent when the elevator opened to reveal a somewhat sleep-disheveled and mildly concerned looking Pepper Potts.
She pulled her robe tighter around her, looked Peter up and down, and frowned. “Are you okay?”
Peter was confused. “Yes…”
She seemed relieved with his answer, and while her frown only intensified, her shoulders were no longer bunched up. “That’s good, but um…sweetie, why are you here?”
Peter felt his cheeks blush and pointed to his wrist and the stupidly empty canister. “Uh…I needed a refill?”
Pepper sighed and the frown disappeared. Definitely relieved. “I thought you were hurt, and Tony isn’t even here, and--,”
“I’m sorry,” Peter cut in. “I was trying to be quiet.”
“Peter.”
“I didn’t mean to wake you. I am sooo sorry, Miss Potts.”
“Peter.”
“Yes?”
“You didn’t wake me,” she said, smiling softly in that way that always made Peter feel welcomed but awkward at the same time. “Tony’s got F.R.I.D.A.Y set to alert us if you show up in the middle of the night.” She waved her hand in the air, nose wrinkling. “Some babysitting something or other.”
“Baby-Monitor Protocol,” Peter mumbled, unenthused.
Pepper nodded and smiled even more. “Yeah, that’s it.” The smile sort of twisted, and her eyes took on that look that May and Tony both sort of got when they were about to be sarcastic as fuck and tell Peter just how much he messed up before she said, “F.R.I.D.A.Y let me know you were here and I just knew something had to be wrong because you are up way past your bedtime.”
Apparently, once you made it past thirty you’re only source of joy was picking on Peter.
“Okay, it’s a curfew, not a bedtime,” he corrected, stepping into the elevator, “And it’s not like I had planned this nighttime visit.”
“Fair enough,” she said, leaning back against the wall as the elevator doors closed and they began to make their way to the lab, “But since when does Spider-Man patrol Manhattan?”
“Since car thieves forgot the meaning of the word ‘stop’.”
Pepper made a noise that might have been a small chuckle if she hadn’t tried to hold it in. “You know, if Tony were here, he’d probably ask if you were slipping. You should have been able to stop them before they hit the bridge.”
“And if he were here, I’d have to point out that A, they had a head start and B, they weren’t exactly going the speed limit.”
Pepper made that not-a-chuckle noise again.
Peter smiled. “But he’s not here, and you’re too nice to ask things like that.”
“Of course.”
When the elevator finally stopped and the doors opened, Peter expected to see an empty lab. What he found, however, was a very rumpled looking Bruce Banner frowning at a clip board.
“Dr. Banner?”
Bruce looked up, saw Peter and Pepper standing by the elevator door and frowned. He looked to the clock on the wall, saw the time, and frowned even more. “What are you doing here?”
And yeah, it might have been asked in an annoyed sort of tone, but Peter decided it had more to do with the late hour and less to do with him. Hopefully.
Peter pointed to the cabinet in the corner of the lab, the one Tony had emptied of spare tools and oil rags before tossing in anything and everything Spider related. “I needed a refill.” He said it with a smile, a small one, but still…
Bruce’s eyes sort of narrowed, like he was having a hard time concentrating and couldn’t quite understand what Peter had said.
Peter held up the empty canister and shook it. “This one’s empty.”
Bruce closed his eyes and nodded. “Web fluid,” he mumbled, like he had finally caught up. He sighed and tossed the clipboard on the nearest table before running his hands through his already disheveled hair.
Peter turned and met Pepper’s eye. She looked just as concerned as Peter felt.
“Bruce,” Pepper began, tone soft and comforting. Peter usually only heard her speak that way when Tony was having a bad day. “Why don’t you call it a night?”
Bruce turned and frowned at her, his forehead wrinkling, and maybe it was Peter’s imagination, but he was pretty sure the doctor’s eyebrows…grew.
“You okay Dr. Banner?” Peter asked, because the more they stood there, the more it became clear that everything was not okay. The green tinged veins bulging on Bruce’s forearms were the first clue.
The deep guttural grunt that answered Peter’s question was the second.
Pepper grabbed Peter’s shoulder but he just pushed her back, trying to be super subtle about putting himself between her and the obviously pissed off Bruce Banner standing before them.
Remember that saying about an angry Bruce?
#youwouldntlikemewhenimangry
But despite the greenish tinge to his skin, Bruce took a deep, calming breath that he let out on a heavy sigh. “Yeah,” he said, sounding somewhat defeated, “Yeah, I think I’ll call it a night.”
He looked up and gave a tired, lopsided grin.
Peter just smiled back.
He and Pepper kept perfectly still, her standing slightly behind Peter, her hands on his shoulder blades until the elevator doors closed and Bruce was out of sight.
Peter turned around, eyes wide. “What the hell was that?”
Pepper was still frowning at the elevator. “He’s been off lately.”
“He was green, Miss Potts.”
“I noticed.”
“What are we supposed to do about it?”
Pepper finally stopped frowning at the elevator, but only because she was now staring at Peter with a very stern look. “We are not doing anything,” she informed him, one eyebrow arching in a very Tony Starkish kind of way. “The best thing we can do right now is just leave him alone.”
“But--,”
“No buts.”
Peter’s displeasure must have shown, because Pepper’s face softened into something a little less stern. “Bruce just needs to calm down,” she explained. “A good night’s sleep and he’ll be better in the morning.”
“He was like that last weekend, too,” Peter reminded her. “All green and pissed off.”
The frown was back. “He and Tony have been working on some project, and…,” she sighed and gestured towards the clipboard sitting on the far table, “apparently it’s not getting the results they were hoping.”
“And Dr. Banner is angry about it?”
“It’s not helping. But I’m pretty sure there’s more to it than that. It’d take a lot more than bad results to make Bruce lose control.”
Peter looked at the clipboard, then looked at the mess surrounding it. There were notebooks and post-it notes everywhere, overturned cups with pens scattered across the table’s surface, a multitude of empty coffee cups, and one pencil that had been snapped in half.
Peter could just make out a few chemical equations and what looked to be an unfamiliar formula that had been scratched out and re-written multiple times.
The whole scene gave him some serious flashbacks to freshman year and the creation of his web-fluid.
“Why doesn’t he just take a break?” he asked, picking up one of the post-its only to discover a bunch of squiggles that were probably supposed to be legible notes.
Pepper sighed and gave Peter a tired and knowing look. “When they get an idea in their head, they can’t let it go. You know this. You’re just like them.”
It might have been intended as an insult, but Peter couldn’t help but grin.
Pepper rolled her eyes, made an effort not to smile, and pointed to the cabinet in the corner. “Get your goo and go.”
Peter gave her a mock salute and did as he was told.
Or he would have. But you know, Parker luck and all.
Peter had just popped two replacement canisters in place when something loud and heavy crashed a few floors below, the force of it making the opened cabinet door rattle on its hinges.
“What the hell?” Pepper asked.
The answer came a moment later in the sound of a deep and unfortunately familiar roar.
“Was that the Hulk?” Peter asked. He was pretty sure he looked terrified and about ready to piss his pants, but it was cool. Miss Potts looked the same way.
Alright, she might have looked a bit more composed, but she still sounded hella worried when she ordered F.R.I.D.A.Y to alert Tony.
There was another crash and something that was unmistakably the sound of reinforced glass shattering.
“HULK WANT OUT!”
Peter was not overtly familiar with all things Hulk, but he was pretty sure an angry Hulk loose in Manhattan was not a good idea.
Here’s the thing: Peter had a really bad habit of making shit up as he went. It wasn’t ideal, but life sort of had this tendency to be dramatic and demanded spur of the moment decisions.
For example, twenty minutes ago, Peter’s biggest problem of the night was trying to figure out how he could convince his aunt not to ground him for missing curfew.
Now he was ignoring Pepper Potts screaming at him to come back while he tried to come up with some way of getting Hulk to calm down and stop smashing his way through the tower and towards the exit.
He pulled his mask back on and sprinted through the halls, following the sound of anger echoing off the walls.
“Karen, can you tell where he is?”
It wasn’t Karen who answered, but Peter wasn’t about to complain.
“He is near the team’s living quarters,” F.R.I.D.A.Y informed him. “I suggest you hurry.”
And Peter did, up until the point he rounded the corner to see a ten foot long, solid wood dining table come flying towards him.
Peter jumped and managed to cling to the ceiling just as the edge of the table became buried in the wall behind him.
Peter blinked, took a steadying breath, and turned to find the Hulk staring at him. “Hey, big guy. How ya doing?”
Hulk grunted and stomped forward, pushing a broken looking couch out of the way as he made his way towards Peter.
Peter stayed where he was, on the ceiling, crouched in what he hoped was a very non-threatening kind of way.
It only took about three steps for Hulk to reach Peter. He squinted his eyes and snorted through his nose in a way that made Peter think of an angry bull.
They were both at eye-level, Hulk glaring curiously as Peter hung from the ceiling. “Hi,” Peter tried again, and yes, he sounded young, but that had less to do with the tail-end of puberty and more to do with the fact that he was currently having a staring contest with the Hulk and man he was way bigger up close. “I’m Spider-Man.”
Hulk gave another bull-worthy snort and turned away, seemingly unimpressed with the kid on the ceiling. Peter watched as he somewhat calmly stomped towards a door that Peter was pretty sure led to a coat closet.
Hulk didn’t exactly open the door so much as pulled it off its hinges. When he saw nothing inside but empty hangers and a few jackets, he threw the door (and the bit of the frame still attached to it) across the room.
Peter crawled forward a little, and asked, “Hey buddy, want to tell me what you’re looking for? Maybe I can help you find it.”
“HULK WANT OUT!” he roared, before picking up an armchair with one hand and throwing it towards a window.
“F.R.I.D.A.Y has blocked the elevators,” Karen chimed in, talking over the sound of shattering glass. “He appears to be looking for the stairs.”
And okay, that was a problem.
Especially since the stairs were right down the hall.
The same hall Hulk was heading towards.
This was where the whole making shit up as he went thing came into play, because as soon as Peter realized Hulk was heading towards the stairs, Peter realized that he needed to stop him.
So he did the only thing he could think of.
He blocked the entrance to the hallway with webbing and prayed it was strong enough to keep Hulk out.
Hulk saw the giant spider web, got angry (angrier), and grabbed the last chair and threw it.
At the web.
Where it stuck.
Hulk roared again and stomped away.
And yes, the webbing thing might have just pissed off an already angry Hulk, but it also worked to stop him from getting to the stairs, so Peter considered it a win.
“HULK WANT OUT!”
“Yeah, man. I heard you the first time.” Peter dropped down from the ceiling, his hands held out before him in an effort to calm. “But why don’t we just sit down--,” Peter looked at the broken couch and the chair stuck to the web, “—or just stand here, awkwardly, and you know…talk.”
“Hulk not want to talk,” Hulk said, somewhat calmly (it wasn’t a yell), “Hulk want out!”
And before Peter could say anything else, Hulk turned and stomped towards the sleeping quarters. The same sleeping quarters that held a room just for Peter, complete with a walk-in closet and a desk for doing homework. It also had an Iron Man nightlight and Paw Patrol bedsheets, but that was only because Tony thought he was being funny when he was actually being a dick. (Rhodey’s words, not Peter’s.)
But it wasn’t Peter’s room that Hulk barged into. Nope, it was one of the doors further down the hall. One of the ones Peter was expressly told, numerous times, by multiple people that he was not to go inside.
Hulk didn’t seem to care that the door was locked, or that he couldn’t fit through said door, because one pull on the knob and the whole door was lying on the ground, the frame and drywall that once surrounded it bashed and broken in a not-quite-Hulk sized shape.
Peter followed him in and immediately froze, because holy shit, he was standing in Captain America’s bedroom.
And yeah, maybe right now wasn’t the best time to fanboy, but all Peter could think about was how Ned would totally freak if he was here, because there was no doubt in Peter’s mind that he was standing in the ruined doorway of Steve Rogers’ bedroom.
The bed that had been made with military precision was a pretty good hint, but what really clued Peter in was the shield propped next to the dresser.
The same shield that Hulk picked up and threw at Peter’s head.
Like a fucking Frisbee of death.
Peter ducked just in time. He fell back, landing on his butt, just as dust from the drywall rained down on his head. Peter looked up to see the underside of the shield sticking out of the wall just a few inches above him.
“Dude…”
But Hulk wasn’t listening. He grabbed the Captain’s desk chair and threw it next. One of the wheels popped off when it hit the floor, the metal leg bending.
He smashed the desk, the closet door.
When he picked up the dresser and turned towards Peter, Peter did the only thing he could think of.
He reached up, grabbed Captain America’s shield and hid behind it. Just in time, too, because he had barely grabbed the leather strap and braced his shoulder against the shield before the dresser crashed into him, pressing him (rather painfully) into the wall.
The dresser’s wood shattered when it hit the shield and Peter found himself suddenly buried beneath the contents of Captain America’s underwear drawer.
Kind of awkward, but still cool.
Except for the fact that his entire right arm was now the very definition of pain.
“Dude, I’m on your side!” Peter yelled, peeking up over the rim of the shield. Hulk gave another angry huff, apparently in disagreement and roared.
Loudly.
Peter was pretty sure it still would have hurt his eardrums even without spider senses, but having them sure didn’t help.
“You ever hear of an inside voice?” Peter asked.
“No inside voice. Hulk want out!” Hulk answered back, before grabbing the foot of the Captain’s bed and swinging it like a bat at the windows.
Peter knew that the windows that high up were made with reinforced glass, and normally it would take more than a queen sized bed to break through them, but he also knew physics, and well…
Force equaled mass multiplied by acceleration.
And the Hulk had a lot of mass.
Needless to say, the windows didn’t stand a chance. Where once stood floor to ceiling glass was now a gaping hole. The wind whistled as it blew through and Peter could still smell the rain in the air.
Peter didn’t really know what he expected to happen next, but it wasn’t for Hulk to roar once more before freaking jumping out of an eighty story window.
He also didn’t expect to follow him, but then again, he was making things up as he went, remember? He didn’t so much as think about it before he was out the window, arms and legs moving on instinct as he flicked his wrist and jumped.
He hadn’t even thought to let go of the shield.
Shield in one hand, Peter swung out to the neighboring building, cringing as he took in the destruction caused by Hulk’s decent. From the looks of it, Hulk had simply grabbed at the building’s façade, his huge hands ripping through concrete like paper as he scaled his way down.
Police were already on scene, hiding behind their squad cars, the blue and red lights flashing off the debris that took up the width of the street. There were about four cops in total, each of them with their guns out, aiming at Hulk who apparently had a flare for the dramatics, because he was standing in the middle of the street, glass and rubble surrounding him as he roared, rather impressively at the cops.
Peter dropped down, making sure to stay out of Hulk’s reach, but close enough to the action to get everyone’s attention.
Which maybe wasn’t the best idea.
All four police officers swung their guns towards Peter, their eyes wide, and obviously way out of their depths.
“Wait a minute, whoa!” Peter yelled, bringing up the shield and hiding behind it. “I’m the good guy, remember?”
“Why’s the Hulk out?” one of the cops asked. Peter peeked around the shield to see that all of the guns were back on Hulk.
“I don’t know. Lack of fiber?”
Apparently Hulk didn’t have a sense of humor, because he gave another angry roar. This, of course, only caused the cops to panic even more, because as soon as Hulk opened his mouth, all four cops shifted their stances, the guns rising.
Peter dropped the shield and jumped forward, hands up and waving, trying to get their attention. “Whoa, whoa, guys. Easy. We’re just…working through some things. It’s cool.”
The cops still looked jumpy, but they weren’t pulling any triggers, so hey, let’s call that a win.
“Peter,” Karen interrupted, “Mr. Stark is calling.”
“Yeah, tell him I’m a little busy,” Peter instructed. The absolute last thing he needed right now was another distraction. Apparently Karen agreed, because for the first time in their shared history, she didn’t patch Tony through.
Hulk had apparently grown bored, because he simply turned and began lumbering down Park Avenue, completely indifferent to the four guns pointed at his back.
The cops looked like they were ready to follow, and if that wasn’t the worst idea Peter could think of he didn’t know what was.
“Come on, guys,” Peter pleaded, “We all know that those bullets aren’t going to do anything but piss him off.”
“You gonna stop him?” they asked.
“You gonna let me try?” Peter asked back.
“Mr. Stark says he is almost here,” Karen informed him.
The oldest looking cop looked warily at Hulk’s retreating form before turning to Peter. “We’ve got reinforcements on the way.”
“So have I,” Peter said. “The Avengers are almost here. Pretty sure he’ll react better to them than strangers with more guns.”
The cops seemed to agree, because they all shared a look before lowering their weapons. The lead guy nodded towards Hulk and said, “He’s all yours.”
“Thank you,” Peter said gratefully before taking off. He bent down and grabbed the shield before strapping it onto his back like a backpack, hoping like hell it’d stay in place. He could just imagine how that conversation would go. “Hey, Cap. Sorry, I lost your shield. I was trying to get Hulk to stop, you know, breaking Manhattan.”
See, the universe doesn’t completely hate Peter. It just likes to fuck with him on occasion, but every now and then, the fates would smile down on him, cut him some slack. Apparently, the Powers That Be had decided that Peter had already had a pretty shitty night because Hulk didn’t seem to be in a hurry. He appeared to just be meandering, seemingly much happier now that he was outside. This made it super easy for Peter to catch up to him.
“Hey, big guy,” Peter greeted casually. He was swinging alongside Hulk slowly, alternating between latching on to the sides of buildings and street lights. “So, I don’t know if you heard me earlier but I’m--,”
“Spider-Man,” Hulk cut in. He sounded unimpressed.
“Yeah, and I already know who you are,” Peter said, dodging a Toyota Camry that Hulk kicked out of his way, “So…nice to meet you.”
Hulk continued walking, and while he didn’t seem to have any destination in mind, Peter did notice he was heading north.
Which was pretty convenient considering that’s where Central Park happened to be. And the fact that it was nearing three in the morning? Even better.
The park was closed and would be void of any smashable civilians.
“So I was thinking,” Peter began, “Now that we’re acquainted and we’re getting to know one another--,” Peter had to swing to the other side of the street when Hulk knocked down a street lamp, “--I mean, we can be friends. Right?”
“You like Banner,” Hulk grunted, growling a bit when Peter swung and blocked him from turning right, which was definitely not the direction Peter wanted him to go.
“Well yeah. But that’s only because I’ve gotten to know him. I’ve never met you before.”
Grunt.
“And I kind of like you.”
Another grunt.
“So…friends?”
Hulk frowned, like he was considering it before giving another, decidedly more amenable grunt. “Friends.”
“Great. Then as your friend, I just want to let you know that you can talk to me.” Peter shot another web, and did his best to force Hulk to turn left onto 59th. “About anything.”
“Hulk don’t want to talk.” He glared at the webbing stretched between two light poles and swatted at it, growling when it stuck to his hand.
“Noted,” Peter said, dropping down and deciding to walk alongside Hulk, who was now focused more on trying to get the webbing off his fingers than on where he was going. Peter steered them in the direction of the Pulitzer fountain and continued to talk. “But uh, the offer’s still on the table. You know, if you wanted to maybe clue me in on why you’re so…angry.”
Hulk’s frown deepened, probably due to the fact that the webbing was now stuck on both hands, strung between his fingers like a weird version of a cat’s cradle. “Hulk want out,” he huffed.
“Dude, you are out. Very much so. See.” Peter gestured to the space around them. The few people still on the street were doing a pretty good job of staying out of their way, even if they did have their phones out, recording the whole thing. “Outside, in the not-so-fresh-Manhattan air. It’s just like the air in Queens, only fancier.”
“Spider-Man talks too much,” Hulk growled before slamming his webbed up hands on top of a blue mailbox, flattening it.
“I’ll stop talking if you stop smashing stuff,” Peter offered, stepping forward to help remove the webbing. Hulk growled again and despite the fact that Peter was actually freaking helping him, he swung out, his offensively large fist smacking Peter right in the face and knocking him on his ass. “Ow, dude, that includes me.”
Peter could taste blood and judging by the sharp and potent pain radiating from the center of his face, he was pretty certain his nose was broken.
Again.
Hulk had managed to pull his hands apart, strands of webbing still sticking to a few fingers, and had started off towards the park, which was good. The fact that he smashed anything in his way including meters, gates, and benches? Less good.
“Dude, wait up!” Peter yelled, scrambling to his feet and ignoring the people staring at him like he was crazy. He followed the path of destruction, and for one terrifying moment, Peter thought Hulk was headed for the zoo.
Images of squashed penguins and stranded sea lions popped in his head. “Karen, we got an ETA on Mr. Stark?”
“Twenty minutes.”
Okay, Peter could work with that.
Hulk had managed to put some distance between them in the amount of time it took Peter to get his bearings, but he was still within eyesight. Peter picked up his pace and tried to figure out what he was going to do if Hulk decided to break into the zoo.
But he didn’t have to worry long, because instead of heading east, Hulk veered west. Apparently Hulk didn’t just want out, he wanted to be alone, and this included being far away from caged animals.
And spider-mutated teens.
“Go away!” Hulk ordered.
“We’re friends, remember?” Peter lifted his mask enough to spit out a mouthful of blood, decided it was best to keep some distance, took a few steps to the right, and added, “Friends stick together, bud. It’s like rule number three in the BFF handbook.”
“What is BFF?”
“Best friends forever,” Peter explained. “Means we watch each other’s backs.”
Hulk gave an affirmative sounding huff and kept walking.
Peter checked the time, realized there was still about fifteen minutes left before help arrived, and decided he’d be perfectly fine just walking through the park until then.
Nice and quiet. No destruction. Sounded like a good plan.
He probably should have let Hulk in on said plan.
The first little while spent walking was relatively quiet, save for the sound of Hulk’s feet pounding the sidewalk with heavy thuds and the occasionally annoyed sounding bellow of “STOP THAT!” that would follow the quiet thwip of webbing shooting out from Peter’s wrist (either in an effort to stop the Hulk from turning east towards the zoo or just so Peter could freaking keep up with Hulk’s large steps.)
After some time, however, the steady pace they had fallen into was broken when Hulk made a sharp right and headed straight for the park’s antique carousel.
And while the image of an angry Hulk pouting atop a pastel colored horse was something funny to imagine, the last half hour made it perfectly clear that Hulk probably didn’t plan to ride the carousel.
Peter rolled his eyes, looked up to the heavens in a very Why Me kind of way, and took off running, wrists flicking as he flung himself over Hulk’s head and onto the roof of the carousel.
“Hey, can I ask you a question?” Peter asked. He slid over the edge of the roof, world upside down as he hung from a web, doing his best to block the Hulk’s meaty fists from reaching towards anything remotely old and valuable. “What the horses ever do to you?”
Hulk’s answer was to just growl and squint angrily.
“Hey, no I get it,” Peter continued, carrying on as though the growl had been perfectly translatable, “They’re kinda tacky, and their faces all look like they’re screaming in pain, but come on, man, this thing is older than you and me combined. It’s like a national treasure or something.”
The bull-like snort told Peter exactly what Hulk thought of national treasures, but so did Hulk’s next move, because for the second time within an hour, Hulk grabbed the Captain’s shield and threw it.
Too bad Peter was still attached to it.
There was the familiar feeling of weightlessness Peter had learned to associate with jumping off a building followed shortly by a feeling he had sort of always been afraid would follow the first.
He hit the ground with all the force one might imagine. The shield took the brunt of the landing, thanks to Peter having managed to flip around, making it so that he landed on his back rather than his face.
Peter groaned, sat up, and shook the shield off his back, grimacing at the feel of what he knew would be some pretty impressive bruises. His nose felt like it had stopped bleeding, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. Add that to the serious case of vertigo he had going on, Peter was willing to bet he’d be missing the next day of school.
If he didn’t die, of course, because Hulk wasn’t done.
Peter looked up when the sound of metal riggings being torn apart screeched through the park. And yes, having Spidey senses was super helpful sometimes, but they weren’t always necessary. Case in point: Peter did not need any warning to know he needed to move. Yeah, he might be seeing two Hulks at the moment, but he was still aware enough to know that when a pastel painted horse on a stick was being hurled his way like a freaking javelin, he needed to move.
But there was still that whole vertigo thing. Combine that with the luck thing and well…
Peter didn’t really have enough of a warning to make it to his feet, so he did the next best thing. He reached around, grabbed the shield, and once again hid behind it. Just in time, too, because exactly a second and a half after he had placed it in front of him, the horse landed. On Peter. Hard.
The sound of metal colliding with metal echoed around him, but Peter was pretty sure his grunting groan was still audible. “Forget the horses,” Peter mumbled, pushing himself to his feet, “What the hell did I do to deserve that?”
Hulk didn’t answer, he simply turned and began reaching for another one of the carousel’s horses.
“Hey, wait,” Peter yelled, but Hulk ignored him, so Peter did the only thing he could think of. He threw the shield.
Admittedly, that probably wasn’t the best choice of action, but Peter was making it up as he went, remember?
The shield flew through the air and hit Hulk right in the arm before clattering to the ground. Hulk stopped, stared at the shield, blinked, and then looked towards Peter.
Peter just stared back. “Uh, yeah….sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
The roar that followed was pretty impressive, or it would have been, had it not been directed at Peter. Hulk reached down, grabbed the shield and threw it back.
Peter was a little luckier this go around. The dizziness had passed and he was on his feet, which meant he was able to jump out of the way. Peter leaned back before reaching out, fingers gripping the edge of the shield as it passed by, stopping it before it could go any further.
When he turned back around, it was to see Hulk stomping towards him.
“Uh…,” Peter began, trying to think of something to say that wouldn’t get him killed. But there was no need. Other than giving Peter a rather intense glare as he walked by, Hulk didn’t seem interested in anything Peter had to say.
Peter shut his mouth and started to follow. Before long, they were in the middle of Sheep’s Meadow, a rather large and mostly empty field in the middle of the park. Nothing smashable anywhere within reach.
Except for Peter, of course.
But Peter had been in worse situations and in all honesty, he couldn’t really think of a better place to sit and wait for the Avengers.
So needing a plan on the fly, a way to distract the Hulk and keep him in the meadow, Peter did what he did best. He opened his mouth without thinking and said the first thing that came to mind.
“Hey, you ever play Frisbee?”
“No,” Hulk said.
“You want to?” Peter tried again.
Hulk kept walking. “No.”
“Come on,” Peter urged, jogging a little to keep up, “It’ll be a good bonding experience, maybe let off a little steam, give us a chance to talk.”
“Hulk not want to talk.”
“Cool, I can get that,” Peter lied. “But I thought you said we were friends.”
Hulk stopped walking and turned to look at Peter, his glare a little less…glare-ish.
“I mean, I thought we were getting along,” Peter continued, tossing the shield up in the air before catching it again, “You know, if we ignore the part where you smashed my face, threw me like a demented Frisbee, and tried to skewer me with an inanimate horse.”
Hulk didn’t really seem to care about the whole friend thing, and that was cool, totally fine, because he wasn’t outright ignoring Peter, wasn’t even yelling at him anymore. Instead, he locked onto one particular part of Peter’s plea, quirked his head to the side like an overgrown, radiated puppy, and said, “Demented Frisbee?”
“Yeah,” Peter answered, sounding probably way too enthusiastic. He held up the shield and mimed throwing it. “We could do that again. Just like before, only this time with me not on it,” he explained.
Hulk gave a suspicious sounding grunt, like he wasn’t too sure, and reached for the shield. Before he could take it, Peter pulled it back and said, “And please don’t throw it at my face.”
There was another acquiescing sounding grunt before Peter relinquished the shield and backed up a good bit. “Alright now you just throw--,”
Hulk obviously didn’t need told, because Peter had barely put some distance between them when Hulk hurled the shield.
High. And way too fast.
Peter flicked his wrist, catching the shield with his webbing, stumbling a bit with the force as he pulled back, stopping it from leaving the clearing and potentially disappearing.
“Okay, yeah, not bad for your first try,” Peter said, attempting to sound encouraging as he tried to pull the webbing from the shield, “but I was thinking something a little less Olympic worthy and maybe a bit more little league.”
Hulk gave a sound that unmistakably conveyed confusion, so Peter tried to explain it again.
“Throw it where I can catch it.”
This of course, just made Hulk even more confused. “You caught it.”
“Well, yeah,” Peter agreed, albeit reluctantly. “But it’s…that’s not how you play. You’re just supposed to, you know…,” he waved his hand a little, trying to mimic a gentle throw, “just toss it. Gently.”
There was another grunt, one Peter couldn’t really translate, so he just moved on. He gave his shoulders a little shrug, aimed the shield, and gently flung it across the short distance to the Hulk.
Hulk caught it and immediately threw it back, and while he no longer threw it towards the skyline, he still seemed a little confused on the whole “gently” part, because the freaking shield nearly knocked Peter on his ass the second it hit him in his chest.
“Okay, okay,” Peter gasped, rubbing at his sore sternum. “Emphasis on little league, okay.”
“Hulk not little.”
“Nope, can’t say that you are.”
“Spider-Man little. Hulk big.”
“Yeah, we get it. Moving on. My turn.” And yes, Peter might have thrown it with a little more force, a bit more aggression than was absolutely necessary, but in the end it all seemed to work out. Hulk liked aggression. And a happy Hulk was a lot less scary.
Except the grin. That was creepy as fuck, but still, let’s focus on the positives.
Peter threw the shield as hard has he could, smiling when Hulk was forced to jump up to catch it, or when he stumbled back from the force.
Of course, this meant Hulk returned the favor, grunting and laughing, because yeah, Hulk actually laughed, like out loud. And all Peter had to do was make sure the shield didn’t hit him and cave in his chest.
Simple.
Within no time at all, Peter was actually having fun, and judging by the demented looking grin Hulk was sporting, he was having fun too.
That didn’t mean that Peter wasn’t relieved when a small quinjet landed on the edge of the meadow.
Peter stood there, shield in hand as the door to the jet opened and Tony Stark and Steve Rogers walked out onto the grass. They were both wearing suits, the kind with dress ties and inner pockets, not armor, but it didn’t matter. Peter was just glad they were there.
Hulk…not so much.
“Stark,” Hulk grumbled. “Go away.”
“Hey, chill,” Tony said, holding his hands up and pointing towards Peter, “I’m here for the kid. He’s up way past his bedtime.”
Hulk made another snort-like sound, but remained quiet. Tony took that as permission to come closer, because he put his hands in his pockets, turned to Peter, tilted his head in Hulk’s direction and asked “You babysitting the Hulk now?”
“Hulk not baby,” Hulk growled.
“No you’re not, big guy,” Steve cut in, acting as mediator and designated grown up.
“Spider-Man baby,” Hulk continued, even though he really didn’t have to.
“Dude,” Peter groaned. “I thought we were friends.”
“Hulk babysit Spider-Man,” Hulk added. And seriously he needed to stop.
The only saving grace to Peter’s ego was that Tony didn’t seem interested in what Hulk had to say. As soon as Peter had spoken, Tony’s attention had been caught. He tilted his head, squinted his eyes suspiciously, and asked, “Are you getting sick?”
“What? No. Why?”
“You sound…come here,” Tony ordered, before reaching forward and pulling Peter’s mask off. The cold air hit Peter’s bloodied and swollen nose, and while Peter couldn’t see it, the looks Cap and Tony gave him let him know it was probably pretty ugly.
Tony arched a brow. “Did the Hulk smash your face?” he asked, sounding very unimpressed.
Peter was about to answer, to say something that didn’t make him look like a loser, but Hulk beat him to it.
“Hulk threw Spider-Man like Frisbee.”
The corner of Tony’s mouth quirked to the side. “Did you now?”
Hulk grunted in assent and added, “Spider-Man Hulk’s friend. BFF.”
“BFF?” Tony echoed, looking momentarily confused before turning surprised eyes towards Peter. “Best friends forever?”
“The bestest,” Peter confirmed.
Steve snorted.
Hulk grunted in approval.
Peter smiled.
Tony just rolled his eyes and said, “Get on the plane.”
“You know, most people, when they first encounter the Hulk, run and hide,” Tony pointed out. He had a small light and was currently shining it up Peter’s nose. “There’s usually some screaming, occasionally a little crying, but not you.”
Peter was sitting on the table in a pair of borrowed sweat pants, his shirt off, head tilted back. He looked down the swollen bridge of his nose and said, “I feel like you’re not about to commend me on my quick thinking and selfless acts of heroism.”
Tony sat aside the penlight and acted as though Peter hadn’t spoken. “No, you decide to befriend the guy. Take a late night stroll through the park—”
“I like to think of it as me taking hold of the situation in an effort to deter further damage and potential injuries.”
“--Play Frisbee using a national war hero’s prized possession.” Tony placed his hands on either side of Peter’s face and lined his thumbs along Peter’s bruised nose. “You know that thing will probably be in a museum one day? And you just…chucked it at the Hulk’s head.”
“He chucked it at mine first,” Peter pointed out just as Tony pushed on the knotted cartilage. “Ow!”
“How’s that? Can you breathe better?” Tony asked.
Peter sniffed tentatively. “Oh, yeah. That’s much better. Thanks.”
Tony gave a pleased nod, stepped back from the exam table, and crossed his arms. “So what did we learn today?”
Peter smiled. “That Hulk likes me more than you.”
Tony frowned. “Try again.”
“Does it cause you physical pain to let me win?”
“Yes, now answer the question.”
Peter sighed, gave his nose another sniff, and muttered, “We learned that Hulk is a lot bigger in person.”
“You’re doing this on purpose.”
“What do you want me to say?” Peter asked, trying not to bump his nose as he pulled on the spare shirt Tony had lent him. “That I should have just let him go off on his own?”
“Yes!” Tony exclaimed. It sounded way too loud in the empty room, and did nothing for Peter’s headache. Tony must have noticed, because when he spoke next, it was much quieter. “We would have gotten him.”
“You were like an hour away,” Peter pointed out. “Do you know how much damage an unsupervised Hulk could have caused?”
Tony stopped halfway to tossing the bloody towel he’d used to clean Peter’s face in a bin and leveled Peter with a very pointed glare. “Yes, in fact, I do.”
Peter ignored the glare and asked, “So you would have been totally okay with him destroying Manhattan the way he did Harlem all those years ago?”
“You were like five then--” Tony frowned.
“Dude, Google’s a thing,” Peter said. “I don’t have to have been there to know about it.”
Tony groaned and rubbed his forehead tiredly. “I’ll admit you helped. You do that a lot, but you have to admit, sometimes you go looking for trouble to try to solve it, like it will physically kill you not to be a part of something. It’s like you’re suffering from the worst case of FOMO, I’ve ever seen.”
It was Peter’s turn to frown. “You know what FOMO means?”
“Yeah, dude,” Tony said mockingly, sounding way too much like a thirteen year old girl from the eighties for Peter’s taste, “Google’s, like, a thing.”
“I don’t sound like that.”
“You totally do.”
Peter glared for a moment, before licking his lips and calmly pointing out, “The cops were gonna go after him if I didn’t.”
“I know. Karen told me,” Tony said quietly. He had hopped up on the table and sat beside Peter, his feet dangling towards the ground, knee bumping Peter’s. “Look, I just…if the Hulk’s gonna bring down a building, I’d rather it be one that you’re not in. Preferably one you’re not even in the vicinity of.”
“But what if I can stop him from bringing down the building altogether?”
Tony didn’t say anything for a few moments. He simply stared at Peter, studying him. He did that sometimes, just looked at Peter like he was a puzzle Tony needed to solve.
Peter didn’t mind.
Eventually, Tony sighed, his shoulder’s slumping as he stared at the far wall. “Alright,” he said. “You can win this one.”
Peter grinned. “Can I get that in writing?”
Tony cocked one eyebrow and reached over, poking one of Peter’s many bruises. “Does victory feel good?”
Peter rubbed his arm and frowned. “Rhodey was right. You’re a dick.”
Tony just laughed.
May didn’t though. Not because of the dick thing, she’d said as much herself on more than one occasion, but she had a Twitter account and had seen Spider-Man trending right alongside Hulk for half the night.
“You know, this probably wouldn’t have happened had you made your curfew.” She was doing that thing she did sometimes, the one where she criticized his actions but in a loving and sweet kind of way, fingers carding through his hair as she looked at him, her nose all bunched up in disappointment.
“I’m aware,” Peter grumbled as he bit into a cold pop-tart.
“Just saying,” May grumbled back. She pushed the still shower-wet curls off his forehead and put her fingers under his chin, forcing him to look up at her. “You’re okay though?”
“I’m okay,” he promised. He even offered a smile.
She squinted her eyes, like she was trying to find the lie. When she couldn’t, she sighed, broke off a piece of his half-eaten pop-tart and sat down across from him. “You want me to beat him up for you?”
Peter stopped chewing. “The Hulk?”
May bobbed her head up and down as she broke off the crust. Peter laughed. “You can’t just go beat up everyone who picks on me.”
May smiled. “Says who?”
“Alright,” Peter said playfully, “Go and beat up the Hulk. Make him say he’s sorry for throwing a carousel at me.
“He threw a carousel at you?”
“Just a horse. Stay focused, May.”
May popped the last bite into her mouth, dusted the crumbs onto the floor, and quirked her lips to the side in a look Peter had come to call her thinking face. “Okay, let’s scrap the whole beating up the Hulk thing,” she said, looking up with a smile, “because that’s just silly.”
“Understatement, but continue.”
She glared, but continued as though he hadn’t spoken. “But it wouldn’t hurt for him to apologize.”
Peter leaned back in his chair and stared at his aunt fondly. “And you think you could make him?”
“I got Steve to apologize.”
“Steve Rogers isn’t the Hulk.”
“True,” she said, tapping her nails on the table as she thought. “He is kinda…big, isn’t he?”
“Again with the understatements,” Peter said, “But yeah. He’s big. And mean.”
“Meaner than me?”
“Not if you ask Tony.”
“Tony’s a dick.”
“He’s been told.”
May sighed and just sort of slumped back in her chair. “I guess he doesn’t have to apologize,” she said, relenting. “But if he does it again,” she added, holding up a finger threateningly.
“Then may the gods grant him mercy against your wrath.”
“Damn straight,” she said, somehow managing to keep a straight face. “Now go to bed, baby, you look like hell.”
He felt like it, too, if he were being perfectly honest. But hey, he’d gone up against the Hulk (in a manner of speaking) and lived to tell the tale. Add in the numerous photos and videos that had begun popping up online to document the encounter, Peter might actually call it a pretty good night (if one ignored the whole broken nose thing.)
He laid in bed, thumbed through his phone, and smiled at some of the photos, cringed at others. He had just switched to Instagram when a call came through, Tony’s cocky contact photo popping up on the screen.
Peter looked at the time, saw it was almost seven in the morning, and answered. “Mr. Stark?”
“Uh, no,” said a familiar, yet tired and shaky voice. “It’s Bruce.”
“Dr. Banner?” Peter sat up. “Are you okay?”
Bruce laughed a little. It was breathy and disbelieving, but it was definitely there. “I actually called to ask you the same thing. I, uh…,” there was a heavy sigh, followed by a groan, not a Hulkish groan. It was more like the ones you hear right before someone complains about being too old for this shit…“Peter I am so sorry.”
“You didn’t do anything,” Peter quickly pointed out. His door opened and May peeked inside, her forehead wrinkled in concern. Peter gave her a small, comforting smile. “It was the Hulk, not you.”
“Yeah well, Hulk’s not exactly one for apologies,” Bruce said with another breathy, self-deprecating laugh.
Peter cocked an eyebrow at May, who was now leaning against the door, arms crossed as she obviously tried to listen in. She just rolled her eyes.
“But he is my responsibility, and even if he isn’t sorry for what happened, I am.”
“I appreciate the intent, Dr. Banner, but it’s really not necessary. I mean, I don’t think we can really blame you for anything the Hulk does. Right? I mean, isn’t he like, a completely different… person?”
Another breathy laugh. “Yeah, Hulk definitely has a mind of his own. But I should have had more control, I should have kept him in line, kept him…Peter, you could have been killed. If you were a normal kid—”
“If I were a normal kid, I wouldn’t have been there in the first place.”
There was a seriously contemplative silence on the other end of the phone before Peter heard another sigh. “Maybe it was lucky you were there,” Bruce said, sounding more tired than he had so far. “Had you not, more people could have gotten hurt.”
Peter held back a laugh. “Can you tell Mr. Stark that?”
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure he heard me,” Bruce said, sounding somewhat apologetic yet entertained at the same time, “if the glare he’s currently sending me means anything.”
“He’s there?”
“Yeah, I had to borrow someone’s phone,” Bruce explained. “Hulk, uh, smashed mine.”
May snorted as she tried to hold in her laugh. She had moved to sit next to Peter on the bed so she could hear better. Peter hadn’t thought to put it on speaker.
“But seriously, Peter,” Bruce continued, “I am sorry you got hurt. I’m glad you were there to keep Hulk in check, but still…I am sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Peter assured him. “Yeah, I would have liked to have gotten the chance to meet the Hulk in a more…controlled setting, but hey, it was actually kind of cool. You know, at least when he decided he no longer wanted to smash me.”
Bruce might have been on the other end of the phone, miles away, but Peter could still hear the smile. “Yeah, apparently you’re his new BFF.”
“You heard about that?” Peter asked, and he didn’t know if he should be embarrassed or not.
“I was made aware,” Bruce said, smile still in his voice. “You’re lucky, Peter. Hulk doesn’t exactly take to everyone.”
“Yeah, I’d hate to see what he’d do if he didn’t like me,” Peter said, regretting it almost immediately.
But Bruce didn’t fall back into guilt. Instead, he laughed, a genuine one. “Trust me, you wouldn’t want to know.”
Peter laughed, too.
“But seriously, I am sorry, kid. Whether you think I should be or not.”
And that was understandable. It was. Dr. Banner felt like he was responsible for all things Hulk, like he was the gate keeper charged with keeping the monster locked inside.
Didn’t matter though, Peter couldn’t blame Bruce. He didn’t even blame Hulk for being the way he was.
He hung up the phone and looked at May. “Was that a good enough apology for you?”
May smiled, knocked her shoulder against his playfully, and sighed. “I suppose it’ll do,” she said, before kissing his forehead. “Now go to sleep.”
After she left, Peter laid there, thinking over the conversation, replaying the times Bruce had said Peter was lucky.
Peter would have laughed and rolled his eyes had it been anyone else. But it wasn’t, it was Dr. Bruce Banner, friendly alter-ego to the angry, rage machine that was the Hulk.
If anyone had worse luck than Peter, it was that man.
So yeah, maybe Parker luck sucked, but it could be worse.