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The first thing Bruce remembers is the headache, deep and pounding in the back of his skull, as Hulk retreats back into the dark corners of his mind where the power suppressor had kept him previously.
Carefully, Bruce pushes himself up on his elbows. Rubble shifts around him, and the headache intensifies. Hitting him like a hammer, right between the eyes. Pulling a deep groan from him.
He stays put as he waits for the worst of it to fade, and only then does he open his eyes.
Sirens are echoing in the distance, coming closer for each second. Bruce is sitting in the middle of a pile of concrete and shattered glass from the building behind him, smashed apart beyond anything Hulk had done in a long time. There is web fluid across Bruce’s chest and back, dissolving slowly. It is sticky but not constricting his movements.
“Hulk… what happened?” Bruce asks in a whisper and inside his head at the same time.
Hulk doesn’t answer him; nothing new there.
It was far from the first time that Bruce had woken up, surrounded by destruction and death. Hulk and he didn’t agree on a lot of things, and the big, green monster that shared his body and brain was fiercely protective of them both… even when Bruce would rather, he wasn’t. Because Hulk's protestation was raw chaos that left Bruce with blood on his hands.
This time was different. Bruce had been wearing the inhibitor on his arm, a requirement if he wanted to live a normal life and work as a professor at ESU. Bruce loved his job; he’d tell everyone that, anytime. He meant it too, saw no reason to lie.
One moment he had been packing up his laptop in the lecture hall… the next? Here. With just a black gap of nothing where memories should be.
Or almost nothing.
Because as he sat there, feeling his heart rate return to normal, he also remembered a short moment of conversation with Spider-Man, between episodes.
He hadn’t come to the fight as Hulk; he’d come as Professor Hulk, but he didn’t remember doing that or having a reason to go to the damage control center in the first place. But there, before him stood Spider-Man, handing him a small power inhibitor with an orange glow. Hulk had seen it as a threat.
Bruce had the time to warn his fellow hero before catastrophe struck. But only just.
He finally gets to his feet, slightly unsteady, and with careful steps makes his way down the mountain of concrete. Watching as ambulances and police cars pull to a stop at the bottom of the wreckage. Paramedics file out, and two spot Bruce immediately.
There are no guns drawn or protective gear as they meet Bruce halfway down. Instead, it is warm hands supporting him, a blanket gently placed across his shoulders. “Is anyone else hurt?” He asks once he’s on even ground and feels certain his voice won’t crack.
“Unknown,” One of the paramedics responds and presses Bruce to sit down on the stretcher, wrapping a blood pressure cuff around his upper arm and electrodes on his chest.
Bruce looks up, taking a proper view of the destroyed building.
He’d done worse, he concludes with a deep sigh. Way worse. Multiple floors were clearly missing their walls, and the floors probably weren’t stable anymore. But it hadn’t collapsed, and that fact alone meant fewer deaths.
“You should go help others,” Bruce looks to the paramedic in protest of treatment, “I’m fine, I’ll heal.”
The paramedic shakes his head, grabbing a medical kit from the back of his ambulance.
He pulls out gauze and hydrotrioxide to clean wounds, before pressing the gauze against Bruce’s lower stomach. “You’re hurt too,” Is all the paramedic responds.
Bruce looks down, watching the white gauze slowly get soaked with blood. He hadn’t even felt the wound, running on pure adrenaline. There was no doubt in his mind that it was Spider-Man doing it, and Bruce could only hope that Spider-Man hadn’t gotten killed in return.
Peter.
The name hits him all at once, Hulk's voice distant in his head. The first, and only word, in years.
Bruce didn’t know anyone named Peter; it meant nothing to him. No students, no people living in his apartment complex. It didn’t make sense, but if Hulk was saying that name now, after years of hiding from the world due to fear, then it had to be important. Right?
A group of men exits the damage control building, dust on their suits and cuts and bruises on their visible skin. Surrounded by armor-clad, armed guys, big guns drawn and ready.
A stretcher is rolling over the cracked pavement of the road, towards a nearby ambulance. A young, redheaded girl, strapped down. She looks unharmed at first glance, but she’s pale and eerily still. Teens her age should be going on shopping trips and visiting cafes with their classmates, not lying half-dead… unconscious… on a stretcher.
“Did I do that?” Bruce asks, eyes following the girl's movement.
He attempts to get up, closer to the girl, hoping to find her unharmed. The paramedic presses him back down, all the way to a half-lying position this time. “You need to stay down.”
The girl disappears into an ambulance, the doors closing heavily behind her.
Bruce feels his breath catch, and his heart rate picks back up; the monitor connected to his chest beeps faster. Not because of the big guy, not this time.
“Did I do that?” Bruce’s voice is desperate now, rising in volume between panicked breaths.
His eyes meet the paramedic, who grabs the straps on Bruce's stretcher, pulling them up tightly around his legs and waist so he can’t get up. “Please just tell me if I did that.” The slightest bit of Hulk anger slips through.
The paramedic shakes his head. He and his colleague step on either side of Bruce, and roll him over to an ambulance too. Lifts him in. Doors separating Bruce from destruction.
“I just wanna know if anyone else was hurt,” Bruce pleads, “Is everyone okay? Is it just me and her? What happened?”
The ambulance begins to move. No sirens.
One paramedic takes a seat next to Bruce, meeting his eyes. There is a softness and a kindness to them that Bruce hadn’t been used to when he Hulked out. “We don’t know for sure if anyone else was hurt,” The paramedic finally speaks. “But I can tell you that if anyone was? It wasn’t because of Hulk. Spider-Man helped keep people safe.”
Bruce hadn’t seen Spider-Man after the chaos, just the young girl, but the paramedic’s words were enough for him to calm down just a little. For now, that reassurance was enough.
***
Bruce fits the pieces together in a hospital bed, stitches running along his abdomen.
He’d been carefully putting on a new inhibitor glove; he’d had his cousin, Jennifer, bring it to the hospital together with a tool kit. While carefully adjusting the straps, securing it around his wrist, he’d remembered the glowing orange light. Spider-Man inhibitor.
The thing had been sleeker than what Bruce used, created to attach directly to the nervous system, once attached to the back of the user’s neck. But the real kicker was what Spider-Man had told him: it should be universal. Meaning, it would work on anyone with powers.
On any other day, Bruce would have dismissed the comment and moved on. Spider-Man was smart; he knew as much. Tony had told him about the web fluid that the hero had created, and Bruce had a minor run-in with the Spider himself the year prior, where Bruce had the amazing chance to study the web shooters up close. Smooth, sleek, and with so many tiny mechanisms, it was a wonder the guy had created the thing without a laboratory.
But today wasn’t any other day.
What was it he said his name was? Ned Leeds?
Bruce had googled the young man once the inhibitor was on, only to find a Filipino young adult looking back at him, with kind brown eyes. Not an ESU student writing his master's, but an MIT bachelor's graduate with a minor following on the social media platform named TikTok. Bruce had known the day before that something was up, but he hadn’t quite thought as deeply about it as he probably should have.
The young man, whatever his name, was Spider-Man.
That probably meant that the inhibitor had been for either someone he was fighting… or for himself.
Bruce shivered to think of what could be driving the young hero to feel the need to weaken himself. He suddenly felt sorrow that he hadn’t gotten closer to the youngest team member when he had the chance. He didn’t even know if Spider-Man had any backup anymore.
The TV gave him the answer, just a few hours later.
Bruce had heard the commotion from his room at Bellevue Hospital; it was hard not to. Death wasn’t pretty or peaceful, even if movies tried to make it seem like it was.
And Spider-Man had been dying down in the trauma room. While Bruce had rested and waited for discharge papers that he knew were coming sooner or later.
He hadn’t known it was Spider-Man at the time, but then helicopters appeared, and the first fans gathered outside the windows wearing Spider-Man merge and get well signs. Confused, Bruce had turned on the TV to find a reporter standing at the front doors of the hospital, looking frightened and uncertain.
“Behind me, at Bellevue Hospital in New York City, lies the city's beloved hero Spider-Man in critical condition.” Bruce’s heart had been all the way up in his throat, pounding harder than it had after his Hulk transformation. “The extent of Spider-Man's injuries is currently unknown, but doctors say that it’s thanks to the vigilante the Punisher that Spider-Man made it to the hospital in time for life-saving treatment. With me outside the hospital, Spider-Man fans have started to gather, and many are giving cards to police officers and nurses, hoping they’ll hand them over to Spider-Man.”
Wearing nothing but a hospital gown and an IV in his arm, Bruce had gotten out of bed and padded down the hall until he found Frank.
Frank, or the Punisher, was sitting with his head between his knees and tears down his cheeks. Bruce hadn’t even spoken; the man had just nodded toward the room door beside him, and Bruce had walked in.
That was where Bruce found himself now.
He’d already realized the young male in the ESU hoodie had been Spider-Man, but he hadn’t taken in the young face properly at the time. In the hospital face, he just looked pale. Curly strands of hair sticking to a sweat-drenched forehead, and the oxygen mask fogging up with each breath. His whole-body laying limb and unmoving. He was younger than Bruce had ever through Spider-man to be, or maybe it was just because of the stitches along his face.
Over the end of the bed hangs the Spider-Man mask and gloves. The rest had properly been cut off and discarded when they’d treated his injuries.
On the table beside the bed, sit more cards than Bruce can count. Balloons are tied around a drawer handle, wishing Spider-Man a speedy recovery. And right at the front, sits a drawing in pencil, of Spider-Man and a young man Bruce recognizes from the Google search of Ned Leeds, except Spider-Man isn’t wearing his mask.
“Oh, Bruce, didn’t realize you’d ended up here,” A nurse steps inside and gives him a kind smile, clearly not minding that Bruce had entered the room without permission.
Bruce was a hero after all; it wouldn’t be weird for one hero to visit the other.
Bruce lets out a grunt in acknowledgment, never taking his eyes off Spider-Man's face. There was something oddly familiar about him, but he couldn’t place it. He hadn’t just met Spidey at ESU.
The nurse adjusts the IV in Spider-Man's arm and manually checks his pulls. “I’ve left a hoodie and cap down in your room,” The nurse says, “Just tell someone at the nurses’ station before you slip out. It’s chaos outside.”
He nods.
The nurse leaves, closing the door behind her with a soft click.
Bruce waits until he’s sure he’s alone before closing his eyes. Reaching for the back of his mind, where Hulk and he could sometimes speak.
They’d never been good at communicating, not even decent. It had taken years for the man and the monster to find a mutual understanding. Then, when they finally had, Hulk had been thrown from space by a purple alien and disappeared into Bruce completely.
But more than ever, Bruce wanted to understand what had happened during Spider-Man and Hulk's fight.
“Hulk, I know we don’t talk anymore,” Bruce begins, speaking in a whisper under his breath. Scared someone might walk in and hear him. “But I need to know what happened; I need to understand who Peter is.”
To his surprise, Hulk answers. Peter. Friend.
Two words, progress.
Peter hadn’t appeared in Hulk's vocabulary until now, today. Yesterday? Could it be that Peter and Spider-Man were connected?
A deep voice clears his throat from the doorway, and Bruce’s head snaps up, eyes opening. Frank is standing with his arms crossed, as composed as he could be, but clearly affected by the situation.
“I think it’s time you leave him to rest,” Frank says.
Bruce doesn’t argue, getting to his feet. He gives Spider-Man's hand a gentle squeeze before walking past Frank and out into the hallway. Down to his room.
Bruce couldn’t wait to go home.
***
Bruce is working late in a lab on ESU when the Web Slinger knocks on one of the large windows.
He’d been expecting the visit for weeks and had honestly started doubting it would happen. Fearing that the young hero wasn’t coming. Bruce was ready to go knock on Spidey's door, if he could find the address, just to make sure that New York's favorite hero was safe.
Discarding his goggles, Bruce heads towards the window and opens it. Spider-Man does a small flip in through the narrow opening, landing in a crouch on his toes and fingers, on the corner of a cleared lab table.
Bruce does a once-over of the Spider-Man suit, the spandex doing little to hide the body beneath it.
“I saw you in the hospital,” Bruce admits immediately. He wasn’t sure how much Spider-Man remembered after his injury, but it was well known that he didn’t share his face. Bruce hadn’t thought about it at the time, too out of his mind from his episode still, so he’d rather come clean than hide something important from the man who protected Hulk and the people around him.
Spider-Man waves a dismissive hand and elegantly jumps down from the table. Straightening his back. “I trust you and Hulk to keep it safe; really, I came to check on you too.”
A soft chuckle escapes him, and Bruce holds his right arm out for Spider-Man to see, the inhibitor in place.
“I’m not going to turn into a big green monster in the cafeteria,” He echoes the words he’d said that day in the lecture hall. “That day was a mistake; I’m not sure what happened, but I apologize entirely if I hurt you in any way.”
Spider-Man stiffens slightly at the repeated words, takes a deep breath, and forces his shoulders to relax. “You were being mind controlled,” The young hero says. “Whatever happened, it wasn’t your fault. None of it. It wasn’t you.”
Mind control, that explained why Bruce didn’t remember going to the damage control center.
Bruce grabs two mugs and fills them with coffee, not nearly as hot as when he’d brewed it a few hours earlier. “Milk? Sugar?”
“Black is fine.”
Spider-Man accepts the cup and pulls up the bottom of his mask to sip. Hesitates, then pulls his mask all the way off, freeing the curls atop his head.
His pallor was much more normal now, a healthy pinkish flush.
Bruce’s own fingers wrap around his cup, feeling the heat seep into his skin. “Your name is Peter, right?” He asks, studying those brown eyes with kindness.
Spidey - Peter - nods slowly, eyes shifting to look down into his cup. “Hulk told you?”
“Not in so many words, no,” Bruce shakes his head and takes a long sip. Leaning against the lab table where he had been working. “Hulk doesn’t speak much, and when he does, I’m left to fit the pieces together. Hulk claimed Peter was a friend.”
For a moment, Spider-Man seems to think about the last statement, then nods.
“I suppose I was.” He shrugs. Spandex shifting against his shoulders.
Bruce doesn’t push for more information. Instead, of setting his cup down and returns to his work. He grabs another student assignment and reads through it, drawing in red beneath errors.
Spider-Man appears, leaning over his shoulder, eyes glued to the pages with interest. Bruce knew that look from some of his best students, the ones that say down and really took in the learning material. It was always a pleasure to have them in his lectures, and Bruce often set off extra time at the end of class to chat with them about science and their projects.
No wonder Bruce had found it so easy to talk to Peter when he showed up. “You’re what? 22? Finished a bachelor yet?”
Peter’s cheeks flush, embarrassed, and shake his head, pulling his eyes away from the papers.
“No?” Bruce asks, surprised, a frown on his face.
“I guess I’ve been busy being Spider-Man,” Peter excuses, finishing the last of his coffee and moving to pull the mask back on. Bruce catches his wrist before he can, eyes asking for me, because he knew a young man like Peter wouldn’t skip out on education unless he had to. With a sigh, Spider-Man adds, “I only have a GED. After the incident with Dr. Strange… things changed a lot; I couldn’t finish high school.”
Bruce's heart aches at the confessions, letting go of Spider-Man's wrists.
The young hero pulls the mask on, and practically flees towards the open window where he’d entered. Bruce starts down at the assignments, takes a deep breath.
“You know, ESU has support for students who’ve had a tough go of things,” Bruce says, not to Spider-Man directly. Just letting the statement hang in the room.
Spider-Man’s footsteps stop; he turns around to look at Bruce through narrowed lenses.
“It’s true,” Bruce confirms. “And you clearly know what you’re doing. Universal inhibitor, maybe not the most ethical choice, but it sure has a spot in the world. I could use someone like you as a lab assistant. Look at it as a student job, while you’re studying.”
There had been a time when Bruce shared a lab with Tony, not often; Bruce hadn’t liked the noise of the city. But when he hung around Avengers tower him and Tony, and Dr. Cho too, had many amazing conversations about science and technology. Sometimes Bruce found himself missing the company, someone to share ideas with.
Peter couldn’t replace Tony, of course. The man was young and still lacked years of education and experience before he’d be able to rival Tony. But he had potential.
Spider-Man nods slowly, letting the mask fall again. “That… sounds really nice.”