Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Wakey, wakey, Anthony—"

"Who is it?" Tony wakes to too much sun and a chill in the air. "Where am I?"

He swings his head around and an earthquake strikes his brain. "Oh, good lord." He's never had such a bad hangover. He up-chucks on the concrete floor beside him, then wipes the sick from his beard with the back of his hand. "I'm never drinking again…"

His drunken-man's pledge gets cutoff when he pieces together the scene before him: He's naked, laying on a bed of crumpled beer kegs and soggy cardboard, early morning sunlight is pouring through a half-demolished brick wall and snow drifts are turning to brown, sticky beer-slush bellow him.

Frigid and alone, with no cell phone and lost in a place he doesn't recognize, a spike of panic fight its way through Tony's intestines and into his belly.

He's never disassociated this badly before. Never. It isn't his alter, the other guy, this is different. This is new, dangerous, and uncontrollable. For a fleeting instant Tony considers trying to trigger his alter to get answers, but his heart knows he won't find any. Not that way, at least—he has to get out of here, get home, get help.

It's harder to stand than he thought it would be. His skin is sticky against the ice-cold, metal kegs acting as his bed. He thinks better of going directly outside and takes a few minutes to scout out his surroundings. He's in the backroom of a bar and manages to find a pair of athletic shorts, flip-flops and a hoodie with "Corona Lite" branding all over them—even dons a pair of "Budweiser" aviator sunglasses—before sneaking out of the hole in the wall.

There is a huge gash in the parking lot beside the bar, and the sidewalk is demolished where the brick wall collapsed. It almost looks like the scene of an airplane crash, except for the absent fuselage and burn marks. Though Tony has no recollection of any of it, a serious bout of guilt sets his heart beating like a bass drum.

He stumbles away from the detritus and out into the street. It is early enough and in a remote enough neighborhood that there's no traffic to worry about. His lungs are pumping twice as hard as usual but can't manage to get enough oxygen. The harder his chest heaves, the more he panics, exacerbating things by the second. He drops to his hands and knees, slumps forward and his sunglasses fall off, shattering on the pavement before his face.

"Need help, Anthony?" That voice again gives Tony pause.

"Who are you?" Tony whispers as if he's hiding the fact that he's even moving his lips. "What do you want?"

"You don't know?" Tony knows this voice, but can't figure out how. Like a half-forgotten song or a distant relation; he can recognize the words but not the speaker. "You will."

"Hey buddy, you alright?" A stranger stops his car and rolls his window half-way down.

"A cab," Tony shouts without raising his head. "Call me a cab, I need to get back to the Four Seasons in midtown."

Tony could not raise his head because his eyes are transfixed by his own image reflected back at him in the broken sunglass lens. Is it a trick of the light? Maybe a poor reflection? Something must be wrong, it couldn't be...

"I got you, should be here in about ten minutes," the stranger says. "You should probably get out of the street while you wait. Have a good one…"

"Wait!" Tony snaps his head up and looks the stranger in the eye. "Wait, before you leave, tell me—What color are my eyes?"

"Oh, Mother Mary save me!" The man's eyes go wide as silver-dollars. He pulls away with tires screeching and smoke bellowing out of his exhaust pipe. He's gone as quickly as he appears, leaving Tony alone in the street.

"Yeah, that's what I thought, too." Tony is momentarily calmed to see someone else lose their cool. Enough to stand up and wait on the side of the road until an old, white and green car pulls over beside him. He makes sure to pull his hood up over his forehead before slipping into the back seat.

The lady driving the cab doesn't seem too interested in him.

Tony pretends to be sleeping for the hour-long ride back into the city. When he finally gets dropped off and squares up with the driver, Jarvis comes running out of the hotel and wraps his arms around him.

"Oh thank goodness you're back, sir," says Jarvis. "I've been worried sick for you. And with poor Colonel Rhodes in the hospital, I was beginning to fear the worst."

"What happened to Rhodey?" Tony says, following Jarvis into the hotel lobby.

"What happened to you, sir?" Jarvis counters. "No one has been able to get in touch with you for nearly 36 hours. Not since you were supposed to go to lunch with Jim."

"Edwin," Tony grabs his butler by his collar and pulls him in close. "What the hell happened to Rhodey?"

"He's in the hospital," Jarvis says with some discomfort. "He's been in a coma since he was found amongst the wreckage of your father's old lab in Hoboken. Something, someone, destroyed everything and left him for dead. Everyone's been hoping that you could tell us more about what happened."

"What, everyone?" Tony releases Jarvis and stumbles backward. "I—I don't remember anything. Nothing from the last day and a half. I'm almost afraid to find out…"

"Sir, did you disassociate? Did the other guy have anything to do with this? How long has it been since you've taken your medication?"

"I don't know any more, Jarvis," Tony says as the two of them get into the elevator. "But I promise, I'm going to find out."

#

Chapter Text

"Robert—I mean, Bruce," Obadiah Stane trips over his own tongue, "I promise I am going to get your name right. Bruce, it has come to my attention—what I mean is—Sometimes in business, people are forced to make choices they never thought they'd have to. Choices they weren't prepared to make, and wish they got right."

"Why are you here, Obadiah?" Bruce Banner hardly even glances up from the server tower he's assembling. The penthouse of Banner Tower buzzes with mechanical activity. A detachment of half a dozen drones from the Iron Legion, busily assemble Banner Tech while two more help Bruce with the stacks. "If you are unhappy with your post at the Foundation, you can submit your letter of resignation by e-mail. We don’t need to have a meeting."

"I've told you a thousand times there was nothing I could do about your brother's coup," Obadiah laments.

"And I've told you, just as many times, that I don't care. I trusted you more than my brother, Obadiah, I won't make that mistake again. There's nothing more for us to discuss. I'll be sad to see you go…"

"I haven't come to resign."

"Then what is this?" Bruce returns to his feet, wipes his hands off and nods to a drone to have it finish the job. "Why are you here?"

"I was sent by the board," he says as he produces a folder from his briefcase. "The shareholders protest your connection to S.H.I.E.L.D.."

"Shareholders are not my concern," Bruce growls. He walks out from the server room and leads Obadiah into the main hall. A pair of drones are hauling away scrap metal and force Bruce and Obadiah to opposite sides of the hallway, facing each other. "Tell the board they can trust me with my father's business."

"You don't understand," Obadiah begins in a tone that Bruce knows he does not like.

"No, you don't seem to understand, Obadiah," Bruce raises his voice and the Iron Legion stops working. "This company will be going through a lot of changes. My brother should have made that clear to you by now. Tell the board, the shareholders and anyone else who thinks they have a say in how I run my company—they can either trust me, or they can sell me their shares."

"You sound like your brother."

"You sound like you are on your way out the door."

For a moment it looks like Obadiah wants to defy him, but it passes and Obadiah comes to his senses.

"Mr. Banner," the voice of Rick Jones plays through an overhead speaker, "your eleven o'clock is here."

"Thank you, Rick, send them up. Obadiah is just leaving."

"Just consider the position you're putting the board in…"

"I've only been running the show for a month, Obadiah, tell them to relax. Things are changing, the world is changing, and we're going to change with it. Banner Industries will be better for it."

Bruce and a pair of drones escort Obadiah to the elevator as the rest of the Iron Legion returns to work. Before the doors open, Obadiah tries to hand Bruce the folder, but one of the drones takes it instead. There's a pleasant chime that emanates from the lift as it opens and reveals two people inside.

"Ms. Hill and Director Fury," says Bruce as he extends his hand to them, "it's a pleasure to see you."

"You've got to be kidding me…" Obadiah begins.

"That will be all, Mr. Stane." FRIDAY speaks through the drone's voice-box and startles Obadiah. Bruce nods and his drones push the old man into the elevator and the doors close behind him.

"Sorry about that—" Bruce shakes Hill's hand, then Fury's, before he leads them into the penthouse. "Hostile takeovers never come without casualties."

"You're telling me," Fury raises an eyebrow and smiles.

"Hope the flight in wasn't too difficult."

"Flight was fine," Hill replies, then lets out a sigh. "It's the traffic that's obnoxious. I think we could have walked here quicker."

"The Super Bowl turned the city into a mad house," Banner chuckles.

They walk down the hall and enter the main chamber which was once David's office. It is entirely unrecognizable, one month removed from his care. Bruce and his Iron Legion knocked down all the walls and replaced them with wide open terraces and floor-to-ceiling glass panes. He raised the already vaunted ceiling to add catwalks, storage and laboratory space. At the center of the main room is a housing cradle for a new Arc Reactor.

After offering them drinks and seats, Bruce and his guests get down to business.

"Mr. Banner," Fury begins, "approximately twenty-four hours ago, a S.H.I.E.L.D. liaison was attacked by a weapon with significant traces of gamma radiation. He was found non-responsive in a destroyed WWII-era lab out in Hoboken. He's in critical condition over at St. Joseph's right now."

"That's awful. Is he going to recover?"

"Doctors don't really know yet," says Hill. "His spinal cord was severed, and he's already undergone two surgeries. No one really knows exactly what to expect. There's talk about bringing in a trauma specialist, but even if he makes a full recovery, we'll still be no nearer to understanding this sort of weaponry."

"So we were hoping to bring you in as a consultant with us," Fury continues, "on a trial basis, of course. You won't be asked to do anything outside your level of expertise. We know that you have a unique perspective on future-tech and have worked well with us in the past."

"Ahh, there it is," Bruce says with a knowing smile. "The bill comes due, only took you about four weeks."

"No one is trying to coerce you into doing anything…" Hill explains but Fury waves her off.

"Come on, Bruce. Drop the act. You know as well as I do that I don't have to ask for your help. I trusted you a month ago with that Vibranium; you needed help and S.H.I.E.L.D. took care of you. Besides, your eyes lit up like a Christmas Tree when I said 'gamma attack.'"

"You're absolutely right, Fury," Bruce says as he stands. "I just wanted to see how long you were going to play diplomat. Looks to me like Ms. Hill is better at this kind of thing."

"I'm a better shot, too," Hill rises to her feet as well. There's a playful smile on her lips that belies the matter-of-fact manner with which she speaks.

"Now you're both acting a fool." Fury stands as well and the three of them share a quick laugh. "If we leave now, we should be able to get through all that traffic by the end of the month."

"I have a better idea," Bruce says and pulls up something on his cell phone. FRIDAY repeats the word "warning" overhead as the east-facing terrace outside the penthouse opens up to reveal a false floor. Then a helicopter slowly rises up to occupy the newly exposed surface. The bird is sleek and luxurious, with a navy blue paint job and "Banner Aviation" written in bold letters on the tail. The rotors begin to whine as Bruce leads them out onto the pad. "What do you say we skip the traffic this time?"

#

"That traffic was a nightmare," Tony remarks to Jarvis as they walk into St. Joseph's Medical Center. Behind them lies gridlocked traffic and a mess of tourists and pedestrians anxiously anticipating tonight's big game. The hospital is busy as well; there's a line nearly out the door.

"Follow me, sir," says Jarvis. They bypass the crowds and take an elevator to the fourth floor. "I called ahead, they're waiting for us."

"Who is?" Tony asks and adjusts his sunglasses.

"S.H.I.E.L.D. brought in Robert Banner, an old colleague of yours from your university days, I believe."

"Banner? What's he doing there?"

"He's trying to figure out what you can't remember." Jarvis hesitates. "Probably best if you don't take your glasses off, sir. The way your eyes look might cause a bit of a stir."

The silence that follows is strangling and oppressive. The elevator doors could not open fast enough.

"Tony, it's be a long time," an older, skinnier Robert Banner holds out his hand to shake Tony's. "Wish we were meeting under better circumstances."

"Same here, Robert," Tony shakes his hand and fakes a smile.

"I'm going by Bruce, these days."

"Bruce it is." Tony doesn't miss a beat. "How's Jim? Can I see him?"

"Not, um—" Bruce stops to check his cell phone. "Did you talk with Nick Fury, yet?"

"I don't think I even know who that is." Tony is very aware that the door to Jim's room is closed. Bruce has his arms crossed and stands between him and the room. There's something in his eye, too, that unsettles Tony. It's a look that he's seen before, usually after a person meets his alter. "What's going on?"

"No one really knows what happened to him, but he'll never walk again. He's had moments of lucidity, but mostly because the treatments he's going through are so painful. All we know for certain is…"

Bruce trails off, but Tony can finish the sentence for him. "…He doesn't want to see me."

"You should really talk with Nick Fury," Bruce says and walks backward till his back is up against the door. "If you need help, I mean, S.H.I.E.L.D. might be able to offer..."

"No offense, but no one has any idea how to help me. You know I would never hurt Jim. You know me at least that well, Banner."

"You're right, I do know you," Bruce says, shaking his head ever-so-slightly. "Which is why I know just how dangerous you are."

For a moment, no one breathes. Tony reaches up to his glasses and considers removing them, just to see the reaction on Bruce's smug face. Jarvis must have noticed, because he pushes Tony's hand back down to his side. "We should leave, sir." Jarvis isn't wrong. "Mr. Banner, will you let Director Fury know that Edwin Jarvis and Tony Stark look forward to meeting with him at his earliest convenience?"

"And make sure you tell us the moment Rhodey is awake, you hear me, Banner?" Bruce only stands and stares as the elevator doors close around them. "What an asshole."

"His father was a wasteman, too," Jarvis adds.

"So now what do we do? I don't know who this Nick Fury guy is, but he sounds like a cop. I don't want to talk to the cops, Jarvis. They won't understand my condition, you know that."

"Of course, sir," Jarvis offers, "but Director Fury isn't like them. He's, well, he's different. I don't know how to explain him. But I do believe, when you're ready, you should talk to him. But right now…"

"What?" Tony is sick of the elevator already.

"I think it would be good for you to meet with a—a specialist."

"Another shrink?"

"Not a shrink, but someone who has experience treating trauma and social disorders. Colonel Rhodes actually gave this glowing recommendation of her. I'll e-mail it to you now, her name is Dr. Janet Van Dyne. If you'd like, I can give her a ring?"

The elevator doors open and for a moment Tony considers making a run for it. He could leave all of them behind: Jarvis, the therapists and cops and federal agents, and never look back. Hop in a cab and take it to a plane that drops him in the middle of nowhere. He could start all over again; and then spend the rest of his life running.

Is that what Rhodey would want him to do? Is running away and hiding any different than what his own father would have done?

"Okay, Jarvis," Tony concedes, "see if you can get me an appointment tomorrow."

"Lovely, sir," Jarvis claps as they head toward the exit. "Might I ask why tomorrow instead of this afternoon?"

"It's Super Bowl Sunday," Tony says and waves his hand at the mass of traffic skirting the hospital parking lot. "I don't want to be in the city anymore."

#

Chapter Text

"It's your turn, Anthony, don't screw up."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean—?" Tony startles himself awake in the driver's seat of a rental car.

That voice is the voice of the new guy, the unknowable, unstoppable one—the one who turned his eyes green and locked him out of his own memories. But something is different this time, this time there is no amnesia.

The past few hours are clear as if waking from a dream. The other guy took over without any trigger, cold-cocked Jarvis to steal a car and drive himself across the Hudson River. The other guy is no longer loyal. Tony lost control—the system is broken.

"What are we doing here?" Tony whispers, but fears who will respond.

The voice rings out strong as a church bell in his mind. "We're here to smash."

"Mr. Stark," a man's voice calls to him from right outside the car window. A guy in a suit with a badge taps his knuckles against the glass. "My name is Agent Coulson, I'm wondering if I can ask you a few questions? Can you step out of the car for me?"

"Oh, no thank you," Tony says and flashes a nervous, unconvincing smile at the man. It quite obviously does not work.

Agent Coulson puts his hands on his hips and backs away from the door so Tony can exit. He's older than Tony, has a high hair-line and an expensive pair of shades on. His suit is nice, shoes are nice too: this guy isn't a Fed. That might be a good thing, might not.

"Agent, Coulson, was it? I'm sorry, I think there has been a bit of a mix up here." Tony slowly eases himself out of the car. His brain is scattered and it's hard to balance. He feels like he looks drunk, which makes him sweat. "I'm the owner of this property."

"That's great. Can you tell me why Colonel Rhodes would have been here two nights ago?" Coulson asks the question as though he doesn't care to hear Tony's response.

"That's what I want to find out," Tony says through gritted teeth. "Please, I just want some answers."

"What's going on with your eyes?" Coulson says and nervously moves his hand toward his holster. "You mind taking off your sunglasses, Mr. Stark?"

"Actually…" Tony begins.

"Excuse us, gentlemen—" Three guys in winter coats and cheap dress shoes approach from across the street. "One of you wouldn't happen to be Tony Stark, would you?"

"Take it easy, guys," Coulson turns and flashes his badge, "we're all on the same team."

"That badge won't get you very far around here," one of the thugs replies. All three are glaring at Tony, stomping over with little caution. "S.H.I.E.L.D. has no authority to operate on U.S. soil. So as far as the Bureau is concerned, you're both persons of interest in an investigation into a possible terrorist attack."

"Wait one second," Tony begins but stops when the Feds all draw their firearms. A headache overcomes him and almost bowls him over.

"Colonel James Rhodes is a Navy officer and war hero, you think the U.S. doesn't protect their own?" The third Fed sounds furious. Flecks of spittle fly from his lips as if he's rabid. "Get your hands up or I'll put you both down like dogs!"

"This is a mistake…" Tony begins but pain thunders through his cranium "You had your chance, Anthony."

"No!" Tony shouts and everyone stops moving, unsure who he's talking to.

"You need me—We need me."

"I said get your hands up," the furious man scolds again. Coulson gets down on his knees, raises his hands, and tries to get Tony to follow suit. It's no use, Tony's writhing in pain and unreachable. "Fuck it—"

"Don't—" Coulson shouts, but too late.

The Fed fires his gun and time seems to stop entirely. Tony knows he's dead and gone. How peaceful death is? It's nothing like he expected.

"Idiot."

"You can't even let me die in peace, can you?"

"No peace, only Hulk."

"Is that what you call yourself? How'd you get the other guy to help you?"

"Hulk strong, Anthony weak."

"Hulk is a lie, a disease I contracted from my father. You're an accident waiting to be corrected."

"Hulk no accident. Anthony sick, Hulk the cure."

A sudden chain of eruptions fire off in rapid succession all over Tony's body. Like his veins are lined with firecrackers, muscles explode and expand into ten times the mass; twenty times; fifty times… His skin hardens over till it's no longer flesh at all, but more similar to granite or marble. The harder it gets, the darker his skin pigment grows. When he reaches his full height, nearly thrice that of Tony's, the hue settles as a dark, forest green. Through it all, his eyes remain sharp, neon-emerald orbs.

Time returns to its natural flow, but Tony has no control over his own body. He's a passenger and observer with front-row tickets as his newest, most dangerous alter, uses his gamma-powers. It's terrible but terrifically liberating.

The agent's bullet impacts Hulk's thigh and flattens like a coin before dropping to the pavement harmlessly. The Feds cannot believe their eyes and step backward, lowering their weapons as if under hypnosis. Agent Coulson turns to realize that Tony's gone, and stumbles as he recoils from the sight.

"What—What are you?" Coulson stammers. No one else can even speak.

"Hulk!"

He shouts and slams a wrecking-ball for a foot into the pavement. The stomp sends a shudder through the whole Earth—China probably felt it. Three malignant fissures crack the street and chase lines under the feet of the Feds. They cry out when they realize what's happening, but in the next instant they disappear as the very ground swallows them whole.

Hulk, satisfied his enemies are gone, turns to square off on Agent Coulson. He raises his arms and flexes to feel the full power in his frame. It's more than Tony can process, perhaps more than he could even imagine. It's intoxicating to have this sort of power at his disposal, to see its implementation in live-action. For some reason, the sheer terror in Coulson's eyes makes it all the more sweet.

As the agent cowers and covers his face, Hulk raises up to his full height and unleashes a carnal, spirit-cleansing roar. Then without another word, vaults atop a nearby building and away, pounding and thumping with every leap and landing.

#

"Mighty Mjolnir," Thor calls out amidst whipping winds, "drink your fill."

A beam of impossibly bright light uncoils from the heavens and strikes the flat head of his hammer. Thor flies through the heart of the storm, soaring on wind and will, drinking in the raw energy of a raging atmosphere. A blizzard rages below him, covering the parking lot of MetLife Stadium in ice and snow.

The rabid journos refuse to leave for fear of missing a shot of Thor's revelation. "There's a bravery to this lot," Thor remarks to himself. "They risk the wrath of the Thunderstriker, the Hammer's Pulse, for petty monetary gain. Reckless to be sure, but a fool's bravery is still bravery nonetheless."

"Hear me now," Thor parts the clouds with a wave of his hand. "People of Midgard, I am Thor of the Aesir. You know me as one of your own, as Donald Blake, but I have crossed the universe to prove myself worthy. I am Thor, and I wield the mighty Mjolnir. Let all who would threaten this dimension take note, and tremble."

"Unghh—"

Thor's cut short by a thermonuclear punch that comes, seemingly, from nowhere. The force sends him flying without any control till he slams into the pavement hundreds of yards away. He shatters the earth where he lands, leaving a crater three times his size, smoking in his wake. His jaw is cracked and sore, but he's never felt more invigorated.

"Who dares strike the Worthy One?" Thor stands and sizzling electricity courses through him. He searches the dark and cloudy skies, but cannot find his assailant. Then he hears a roar like the sound of a lion and a man in one. "Let us find out."

Thor swings Mjolnir to launch himself into flight. A crack of lightning illuminates his way as he dives into the clouds. It takes him only a moment to find his attacker among the outskirts of the stadium parking lot. He's massive, three times the size of a normal man, his skin is nearly black in the night, and a green glow emanates from his eyes.

The beast espies Thor in flight and lets out that horrible battle cry. His muscles flex and stretch as pure rage surrounds him like an aura. He crouches and clenches fists, then hurtles skyward.

Thor has little time to react. The glow from the monster's eyes turns the monster green-skinned to Thor. It mesmerizes him, even makes him crack a smile. It is a mistake.

The green beast swings around a haymaker that nearly takes Thor's jaw off. He recoils and catches the following blow with his forearm, but lets out a grunt. Each punch feels like a thousand ton hammer.

It is exhilarating; every cell in Thor's body rejoices at the glory of battle. As though he was built for this—As though he lives for this.

"Who are you, beast?" Thor calls out as gravity pulls the monster back to earth. "And how came you by your strength?"

"Hulk smash—" it calls back and lands harder than a meteor. The earth lifts up and ripples like waves of water, exploding outward from the impact. He roars to assure Thor that he's still alive, still angry.

"Well then, Hulksmash, I am Thor, champion of the realm of Midgard. You give good sport, but I must ask you stop your destructive ways. Hey—!"

Thor cannot finish because the Hulk leaps up once more. This time Hulk folds his hands together and lifts them both in an uppercut. He salivates like he's rabid. A lightning bolt flashes in his eyes, but it doesn't slow him down.

Thor rushes to meet Hulk and blocks the blow before it lands. A scrum ensues and the both of them fall like an electrified comet. With their feet on the ground, the two titans exchange punches that could crush mountains.

Thor grows stronger the longer he fights, as though combat fuels his energy reserves rather than depleting them.

Hulk grows stronger the longer Thor resists him, as if out of the sheer audacity.

"Hulk the strongest ever!" He roars before throwing a parked car in Thor's direction.

"You're angry, I'll give you that," Thor announces as he catches the car and places it back on the ground. "But you're no match for Mjolnir."

Thor launches the mighty hammer straight for his gut, along with a bolt of lightning. The weapon pins Hulk to the ground. Mjolnir is squarely on Hulk's belly and slowly pushes the beast deeper into the earth. "Calm yourself, foe Hulk. Mjolnir will not rise without my bidding. Tell me now—whose evil will sends you hence?"

Hulk has no interest in talking. His first instinct is to lift Mjolnir off of his chest, but can't manage and that enrages him further. He claws at it frantically; growing in violent desperation each time he fails. He screams and slams his hands down, kicks at the air and thrashes his head back and forth.

"Incredible—" Thor scratches his chin. Even with the experience of Waneslowe at his disposal, Thor cannot conceive of an angrier, wilder troll. "Tell me what you want, Hulk?"

"Hulk want—" he bellows then thrashes his arms and legs downward in unison. He digs down through the earth, backward like treading water, until he's out of sight. Then a sudden shudder and roar announces Hulk's freedom. He's a cannonball shot out of the hole, with his big, green fist aimed for Thor's chin. "Smash!"

The blow sends Thor rocketing across the sky once more. He doesn't stop tumbling for a quarter mile, finally coming to a rest in the median of the NJ Turnpike. Thor's surrounded by broken concrete and pavement as he rises to his feet and wipes the sweat from his brow.

Rolling thunder overhead announces the arrival of the Thunder God's wrath.

Chapter Text

Thor presses his mighty frame to the limit, if there even is one. His strength doubles and doubles again. The energy around him whips up a lightning squall and pulls him into the air. A strike of electricity blasts upward into the atmosphere like fireworks. Mjolnir returns to his outstretched palm…

…Just in time to land a devastating blow on a fast-charging Hulk. The force creates a blast radius that expands to wipe out both sides of the highway. Things are completely out of hand.

The Hulk returns to his feet, shakes his head and wipes off his chin. He pumps his fists and looks ready to do something stupid, but a light in the sky catches his eye. Hulk turns to face what looks like an missile, reaches back to unleash a primal roar, then catches a laser blast in the face that knocks him back a dozen yards.

Thor raises his hammer, feels the lightning coil around his fingers and trace down his arm, but does not engage. A new player has entered the game; one who flies on jet-boosters, wears the armor of a robot and fires energy from his palms. He bears a glowing orb of blue-white electricity implanted in his chest where his heart ought to be. Thor immediately likes the guy.

"Stark, can you hear me? Stark, hey Tony, quit it!" The robot-man is shouting through a voice-modulator as he dances with the massive Hulk. The green beast is double his size and fast as viper, but the flying man is faster. Thor cracks a smile after the Hulk lunges and misses three times in a row, only to receive three mouthfuls of laser beam. "Stark, it's Banner, you know me. You need to remember who you are."

Thor flies over and slams Mjolnir down on Hulk's cranium when he's not looking. The monster knocks through a concrete wall which gives Thor a moment to speak with the new fighter. "You have a warrior's heart, if not necessarily his tools. Tell me, are you man or machine? And be you friend or foe?"

"I'm sorry, did I interrupt a play or something?" Banner responds. His facemask lifts from his helmet as he extends a hand. "My name is Bruce Banner, and last I checked I am a man."

"Yet you derive your powers from lightning, no?" Thor grabs Banner by the forearm and uses his free hand tap the mini Arc Reactor.

"Ha! Well, that's one way of putting it."

"You and I must defeat this Hulk." Thor recovers his hammer as Hulk climbs back to his feet. "He could destroy everything. He's unstoppable."

"Not to Tony," Banner responds confidently. "He's a good man, he just lost control. We have to help him." Banner stops talking when Hulk leaps at them. He flies away, while Thor grapples with the beast.

"Hold him still," Banner shouts and Thor obeys. The robotic suit whines as it charges up for something. Banner flexes and quivers trying to control it all. Then he shouts: "Let him go!"

Thor twists around to swing Mjolnir, launching himself free. As soon as he's clear, Banner fires the unibeam—an energy blast of massive proportion originating from his chest unit—which pins Hulk to the earth and scorches his flesh.

Thor is impressed and conjures a massive lightning blast to compliment the unibeam.

The Hulk appears subdued as Banner lands by his side. "Stark, can you hear me? Jesus, look at the size of him. Gamma readings are way off the charts. This is beyond my expertise."

"Why do you call the Hulksmash, Stark?" Thor lands and watches him, curious more than cautious. "And how can one be friends with an ogre such as this?"

"He wasn't always like this," Banner says. "Actually, he kind of was. But this power is something new. Something dangerous."

"Perhaps it is magic? Some trick from a great evil?"

"I think it's more likely a mistake of science." Banner removes his helmet and presses a nearly-invisible button in his ear. "Director Fury, can you read me?"

"Loud and clear, Banner," a grizzled voice responds through the earpiece, loud enough that Thor can hear. "Is the threat neutralized?"

"For the moment, but there's no telling for how long," Banner replies. "I've sent instructions for the Iron Legion to begin setting up a housing unit for the weapon in my tower."

"Belay that, we're going to take it in," Fury says, casually. "I've got a team on the way to you now. S.H.I.E.L.D. will handle this."

"Respectfully," Banner begins, and Thor can tell there is a power struggle happening, "I don't think that's the best idea."

"Stark used S.H.I.E.L.D. tech, S.H.I.E.L.D. research to create this weapon of his. It is our property, I don't care if he's your friend or not. The world's safety must come first…"

Suddenly the man Banner called Fury, stops talking. Banner looks at Thor and cracks a wily grin. "I never liked being told what to do."

"Friend Banner, what do you have in mind?"

"You can call me Iron Man," he says and lowers his facemask as Hulk begins to stir. "And we've got one more fight on the way."

#

"Who am I?" Tony begs the question but can't hear his voice. His head hurts—everything hurts—but he's just along for the ride. Hulk is in control. Hulk will protect Tony better than the system ever could. "Who am I?"

Hulk stands, but it's not easy to lift his huge frame out of the crumbling crater. Burn marks and singed hairs discolor his chest and arms. A wall of stacked cinder blocks falls on him and remind him of the pain. That laser beam, and the thunder guy, this fight, Rhodey: it's getting exhausting. "Who am I?"

He wants to roar, to scream, to leap back into the fray and show these pretenders who the strongest is. "Hulk is the strongest ever!" The words hammer in his head and his heart. "But, who am I?"

"Stark!" Iron Man hovers over him and speaks as though through a megaphone. "Come on buddy, you need to get it together."

"Friend, Iron Man," Thor flies over and readies his sledgehammer, "there are helicopters and humvees on the way. Whatever you have planned, it needs to happen now."

"You hear that, Tony?" Iron Man removes his helmet. It's Robert, err—Bruce Banner! "S.H.I.E.L.D. is almost here. You know these guys won't ever let you see the light of day if they get their hands on you."

"Hulk smash puny S.H.I.E.L.D.."

"Tony, I know you're in there somewhere," Banner holds up his hands in surrender. "I'm not—We're not going to get in your way." Thor nods as Bruce speaks. "We can buy you some time. But this is one fight that has to be all you."

Iron Man lowers his helmet and looks to the sky. "Oh, and Hulk," Banner says, "if it makes any difference, I'm rooting for Tony." Then he and Thor blast off into the sky to take on the S.H.I.E.L.D. strike force.

"Who am I?" Tony says once more, but with Hulk's voice. The sound sends a wave of confidence through Tony that he never expected. It spreads like wildfire. Suddenly, the walls between the Hulk, Tony and any other alter he's ever dissociated with, transform into bridges. A moment of revealing oneness sends waves of nirvana into his core. The system is gone, but so too is Hulk's reign. Tony finds his true strength in accepting all of who he is.

"One does not climb the levels of enlightenment like a thief on a ladder…" A shudder goes through his chest and the Hulk doubles over.

"To free oneself of extremes is to be enlightened." The Hulk roars but not in rage, in terror. His power drains like air from a pin-pricked balloon.

"Hulk is the strongest, ever! Anthony will never be in control. Ever."

"Fool," Tony shouts through Hulk's lips, "nothing is permanent."

Like an exorcism in an old movie, the gamma monster retreats with spectacular ferocity. His incomprehensible mass shrinks in the blink of an eye. Thunderous, swelling pain abates, only to be replaced a moment later with a wicked soreness.

So Tony Stark conquered the Hulk.

It is cold and the ground is shattered around him, but Tony is free. He hasn't felt better in a long while. It takes some effort to climb the crater, but when he's out he looks up to see Thor and Iron Man are not alone in fighting off the S.H.I.E.L.D. forces—a squad of drones from the Iron Legion assist in the melee.

For a moment, Hulk tries to convince Tony that he could help his friends. Tony knows better, and isn't sure he could survive another transformation, anyway. Hulk concedes and Tony breathes easy.

Then an Iron Legionnaire flies up and lands right before Stark. "I'm proud of you, Tony. Hop in, I'll give you a ride back to headquarters."

The drone opens and wraps itself around Tony like a robotic wet blanket. "Wow, a guy could get used to this…" Tony remarks as the drone's systems come online and adjust to his biometrics.

Without warning, it lifts off and rockets through the sky, past the skirmish toward Banner Tower across the river. Tony whoops and hollers for the first full minute of exhilarating flight. "Can you hear me, Bruce?" Tony realizes he's shouting. "Sorry about that, Bruce, you there?"

"I read you, loud and clear," Banner says with a chuckle. "Just mopping up the last of these goofballs. Nick Fury will be pissed but he'll get over it."

"Hey, thanks for believing in me. You and the big lighting-guy. Who is that again?"

"He calls himself Thor," Banner replies. "Like the god of thunder, Thor."

"Well, tell him thanks as well. I—I don't know if I deserved your faith, but I'm grateful. I don't think I could have beaten the big guy without you."

"Thor says to tell you that the fight has only just begun," says Banner. "I guess that means we're all in this together. What do you think?"

"I think I just caught my first break in a long while," Tony says with a long sigh. "I'm in, how can I help?"

#The End#