Work Text:
The lengths we go
🕷
There was something wrong with Spider-Man.
Jean DeWolff set down her half-empty coffee.
The precinct was winding down from a harried night of activity. Four robberies, eight muggings, one sexual assault – DeWolff was going to follow up on that herself – and then, of course, the Scorpion. Mac Gargan had escaped on route to the detention center and it was only a matter of time until he showed up again.
DeWolff hadn’t been worried, not truly. Spider-Man had been putting in the hours and putting just as many of those crimes to rest. He’d handled Scorpion before. He could wrangle him again, right as rain.
The new concern was the strange chain of amnesiacs involved in situations they had no recollection of.
But that assessment had changed drastically in the last couple hours.
“Hey Gary,” DeWolff called as she riffled through the paperwork stacking her desk. “What do you make of it?”
Sergeant Gary backtracked, as he had been passing by with a stack of paper in his hands. He shrugged. “About Samson? Little knocked up, but she should make a quick recovery.”
“It shouldn’t have happened at all.”
Gary tapped his pen against the stem of his glasses. “Collateral isn’t actually a new development when it comes to these vigilantes – superheroes – whatever you call them.”
DeWolff shook her head. “You weren’t out there. Spider-Man… something’s up with him. But we need him, now more than ever.”
Gary sighed and entered the office. He shut the door.
“You want my opinion?” He started, affecting a serious tone. “You’re his handler. Until now, he’s done great work for us – for New York. Love the guy. But if you think he’s gone sour…”
DeWolff pursed her lips. It was her call.
“Something snapped. Like a rubber band. Just long enough for people to get hurt. Then, he was back to normal.”
“Everyone has bad days,” Gary reminded her.
DeWolff sat back, staring beyond Gary towards the bustling officers through the interior window.
“When we have bad days, we don’t almost kill someone.”
That was the crux of it. Whoever wore that suit – no mattered how good natured he seemed – had a ridiculous amount of power. Power that could easy result in something much worse than it prevented. Someone like Spider-Man couldn’t afford a bad day. Too many risks.
Gary ruminated on her words. Tapped her desk once.
“Give him one chance. Anything happens again, even if it’s just enough to make you question… that’s it. We contact Damage Control. They have task forces for this kind of thing.”
DeWolff sighed, wrapping her hands around her coffee. The mug was already cool.
Spider-Man wasn’t a bad man, not by any means. But the road to hell was paved with good intentions. If he harmed as much as he helped, she couldn’t stand by.
“One chance,” she agreed.
Gary nodded, sweeping his papers under his arm and shuffling off to finish his paperwork.
DeWolff bit her lip as she stared at her phone. She could call him – follow up, ask some questions. He had seemed a little rough around the edges. Frazzled. Distraught.
She put the phone to her ear before she could change her mind.
It rang twice.
“Spider-Man,” she greeted.
“Uh, hi, Detective DeWolff. Look, I’m really sorry about earlier. Is the officer alright?”
“They’ll recover. But sorry doesn’t cut it. You could have killed someone. Do you realize that? What’s going on with you?”
The sound of silence punctuated the other line. A muffled rustle.
“I know.” A sigh.
At least he knew enough not to offer excuses.
“And? Is it the stress? All work and no play? Spider-Man, you’ve never taken a day off in the years that I’ve been working with you. This is not a request. Take some time to sort yourself out and only come back when you’re ready.”
“I–” He swallowed, tried again. “Right. Time off. I’ll make it right, Detective. I promise.”
“I’ll hold you to it,” she promised back. The line went dead before she put the phone down.
Spider-Man was a good man. But it didn’t prevent the unease coiling in the pit of her stomach.
🕷
Dr. Bruce Banner was leaving Empire State University for the day when a flash caught his eye.
He grimaced.
Bruce had thought by now, he would have gotten used to the notoriety that followed him like a hangman’s noose. While it was normally in good fun – and he loved his students for their enthusiasm, even if it was often misplaced – there were the more unpleasant aspects of being out in the open.
He wasn’t a stranger to the occasional brave-faced first year trying to startle him, as though the inhibitor on his arm was so easily overcome.
“No pictures,” he called, without much heart. Privacy was dead.
A man with wide-rimmed glasses stepped out from around the corner.
“Look, I’m sorry about that. I didn’t actually mean to, that is, take your picture.” The man gestured behind Bruce. As he turned, he noticed the display in the courtyard.
There was a stand set up with various booklets and magazines. Forefront was some sort of article on Spider-Man and an aptly named individual promoting it. The suit was obviously bought as some sort of costume, with an open seam at the back.
“Right,” Bruce drawled.
“But I mean – you’re really cool! You know, as a Professor and not just as the big, raging, green Hulk.”
Bruce’s eye twitched, though it was mostly in amusement.
“Are you in my classes?”
The man laughed. “No, I’m actually from MIT. But I sort of follow all things Spider-Man. There’s this app I made that tracks sightings. I thought I’d follow up since this seemed unusual – and there you have it. Post the photo of the obvious fake and move on. Sorry that you got caught up in it, Dr. Banner. I’ll take a new photo.”
Bruce glanced again to the fake Spider-Man and sighed, shaking his head.
“You kids and your superheroes. Be sure to delete that picture, Mister…”
“I’m Ned, Ned Leeds. Still a big fan, so keep on being cool!”
Bruce stopped mid-stride and turned. “Excuse me? What did you say your name was?”
Ned blinked. “Ned Leeds?”
Bruce’s brows pinched. “Is this some kind of joke? That guy from yesterday – he was interested in my inhibitor. Now you’re taking pictures.” Bruce grasped at his sleeve, dragging it more securely over the device.
“Guy from yesterday? I assure you I have nothing to do with that. This meeting was an accident.”
“Then why did he say his name was Ned Leeds?”
Ned’s mouth flapped open. Closed. An awkward silence passed.
“I don’t know,” Ned said at least. Bruce found that he believed him, dumbstruck as he was.
“Forget about it,” Bruce muttered, waving a hand. His right hand. He quickly lowered it.
“You said he wanted to know about your inhibitor?”
“He had all these theatrical ideas about designing something universal and self-modulating. I didn’t quite like the practical applications…”
“Someone impersonating me wanted to know about how to restrict mutations… Interesting,” Ned muttered, stroking his chin.
Bruce adjusted the strap of his briefcase. “If that’s all, goodbye, Ned Leeds.”
As he went, Bruce couldn’t stop thinking about it. Could it have really been coincidence? Or had that other student – the suspicious ‘graduate’ – been impersonating someone else? To what end? Ned didn’t go to this university. It didn’t make sense. This only made it more uncanny.
Should he look into it? Probing for access to camera footage would only raise more questions that he didn’t know how to answer.
If something like his inhibitor became widespread, or worse – controlled by the governments of the world – it could mark a very dangerous time for meta humans.
🕷
Ned swiped through the various pings on his app.
The sightings were all over the place. Of course, fake sightings cropped up all the time, but usually the requirement for uploading photos was able to filter through the costumes and imposters. For some reason, it wasn’t filtering the information like it was supposed to. He’d followed up on this one, well because he’d thought there might have been some merit. Spider-Man could have been rendezvousing with a fellow Avenger, even if he mostly stayed out of their way. Of course, it was a bust.
Happy coincidence though – Ned did get to speak to the Dr. Bruce Banner, gamma scientist and infamous Hulk. That was a delight. But it was equally strange to discover that someone had supposedly approached Dr. Banner about meta inhibitors while using Ned’s name.
Weird.
He couldn’t see any reason to it. He wondered if he should hack into the school’s security database. Depending on the school’s policies, servers and storage, it might store the video data anywhere from twenty-hours to weeks later. An encounter that happened yesterday was most likely still on there.
Forgetting the absurd pings of Spidey Tracker for the moment, he resolved himself to follow this thread. It was likely a closed server, which meant he would need to access it directly from a network connected to it. It was unlikely routed through the university’s public Wi-Fi, so at the very least he needed to get some administration credentials.
Before he could change his mind, Ned sidestepped into the nearest building.
It took very little effort to find a server room. He slipped inside, connecting the laptop he always kept on him and started riffling through what he could find. Of course he had to maneuver past the security measures – but save for Stark Industries, everything else was relatively trivial.
Within minutes, he had various feeds from the previous day pulled up. He cross-referenced Dr. Banner’s lecture times from the previous day and scrubbed the videos leading to and from his lecture halls. Eventually, he found it. A prolonged conversation with a brown-haired student. While the camera didn’t have audio, Ned was fairly sure this was who he was looking for.
It was the man who’d visited their housewarming – the neighbour that neither him or MJ had known. Maynard.
Had he shown to simply scout them out? It definitely seemed like he was scheming something. Studying inhibitors… that sounded like bad territory. The kind that came with villains. If it wasn’t something fishy, he’d have no reason to use a fake name.
Ned should look into it. That was some serious tech. If Maynard managed it – who knows what he planned to use it for. Spider-Man could be in danger, or any of the other mutants in New York…
He shut his laptop and extricated himself. He whistled as he strolled out the corridors and into the fresh air. MJ wouldn’t believe this. He had to get home and tell her. On his way home, there were eight more pings for Spider-Man’s location, all in different boroughs of Manhattan. Maybe he needed to restrict upload access further. Could it be bots somehow bypassing the AI?
When he turned the lock into his apartment, MJ was nowhere to be seen. Her room door was open, which was weird because she was very private and always kept it closed.
Ned prayed silently as he stepped inside.
Her window was a few inches ajar, another anomaly. She never kept her window open when she wasn’t home.
He glanced down at her open notebook, filled with calculations regarding her aerospace engineering. He could parse through some of it, but even her expertise in mathematics and physics had begun to surpass his in the past couple of years. On the last calculation of the page, the pen stroke flourished oddly, the calculation incomplete.
MJ never left her work unfinished.
Something was wrong. Had someone broken into their apartment? MJ would never just leave like this – not without a text or a note and most definitely not with unfinished calculations and her door open and the window ajar.
Ned was spiraling, but he couldn’t help but suspect Maynard. That dude was shady, with a capital Suspicious.
Ned called her, which is probably the first thing he should have done.
His fear was cemented when her phone rang from its charger on her bedside table.
MJ would never leave without her phone. Not willingly.
Fuck.
🕷
MJ sat across the table from Frank fucking Castle, also known as The Punisher. She'd seen the news. It had taken her a moment to put it together. He was the psycho who’d murdered tens if not hundreds of people for his slaughtered family. That was all sorts of crazy and yet the craziest part was that Spider-Man had been the one to bring her here, for her protection. From which he still hadn’t returned from whatever mess he had gotten into.
“So how did the Punisher end up buddies with Spider-Man?”
Frank quirked an eyebrow, scab on his face pulling as he stood and leaned against the wall. It made her feel like a prisoner under guard, which she didn’t appreciate.
“We ain’t friends.”
“Could have fooled me.”
Frank huffed, stepping away from his looming perch. He shuffled to the counter. MJ was just trying to look like she wasn’t snooping. She had already accomplished enough of that while he’d been out helping Spider-Man with who knows what.
“You went to help him, didn’t you? So where is he?” She asked again, frustration welling. She had found the note. She had known Spider-Man. She had known the man under the mask – someone named Peter Parker. Yet she remembered none of it. She didn't even know if she wanted to remember it.
Frank’s fists balled against where he pressed them on the counter. The knuckles were bloody and one finger looked awfully purple. He had set out a couple pots and pans on the stove – boiling water and some sort of red sauce.
“I told you. I don’t know.” He rolled his shoulders as he turned to face her. “He took Jean and left. He wasn’t acting like his happy-go-lucky self either.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Frank plopped some dried pasta into the boiling water.
“Look. That thing he was working on,” Frank gestured behind his neck, “broke. Now I don’t know nothing – but what I do know…”
MJ blinked.
She had seen the designs. It had been a remarkable piece of bioengineering that went after specific mRNA strands within gene sequences. But it did more than just ‘inhibit’. It cut off those strands entirely, essentially altering the DNA. Surely, whatever Spider-Man was experiencing didn’t necessitate that. Something of that caliber would be designed for total mitigation and suppression – something capable of shutting down a terror like the Hulk. Spider-Man wasn’t a monster.
“He took out Damage Control like nothing. Not his M.O., but whatever. I thought he was just riled up after dancing with the Hulk. But then he hauled Jean off without an explanation. Threatened me, if you would believe it.”
Frank held out his hand. His small finger was bruised and swollen.
MJ’s eyes widened. That didn’t sound like Spider-Man.
“He threatened you? And hold on – the Hulk was there?”
A flash of green caught her eye from the small TV in the corner. Frank caught it too. The news channel was showing footage of Hulk and Spider-Man freefalling from a skyscraper. Tons of debris ripped from the side of building fell with them. As the camera zoomed in, it was clear that Spider-Man was ruthlessly attacking Hulk as they fell.
The feed zoomed out as they crashed. When the dust settled, Spider-Man was seen briefly talking to a de-transformed Bruce Banner, before soaring back up the building.
Frank whistled.
“Didn’t know the kid had it in him. He gave the Hulk a walloping.”
“Was he okay?”
“The Hulk? Hell, if I know.”
MJ’s brows squinted. “No, Spider-Man.”
Frank’s eyebrows raised. “Oh. Yeah, seemed unhurt to me. Enough to fuck shit up.”
Frank turned to pour the cooked pasta through a colander, before mixing it with the pan of sauce.
“He wasn’t normal. He knew it too. Called himself ‘volatile’, Mr. Verbose.” Frank sighed. “Whatever he was – I’m starting to think he’s out of control.”
MJ was reeling. Whatever changes Spider-Man – Peter – was going through were crazier than she thought. He had seemed fine without it. But if what Frank was saying was true… could the inhibitor he was creating truly be necessary?
“You said he took Jean? That must be a good thing. At the very least, I should be able to go home.”
“Yeah, you can go home.” Frank waved a hand, the wooden spoon dripping tomato sauce. “Spider-Man said as much. But that’s it? The way he looks at you – you know? I thought you woulda known him. Been worried about him after all this shit. But go ahead. Be my guest and leave, save me the trouble of looking out for you.”
Frank pulled out two bowls and ladled pasta into one.
“But I got a good meal right here. Maybe you wanna have a bite while we figure out how to track him down and save him from whatever shit he’s getting himself into.”
He took a forkful of his own pasta, chewing slowly as he waited for her to respond.
What did she want to do? Did she want to step away from this and the revelation that she had actually known Spider-Man and go back to way things were? Pretend this never happened? Or did she want to dig deeper – find him, deal with whatever crazy he was going through and then confront him about this?
The pasta did look good.
She nodded.
Frank handed her a bowl along with a fork.
🕷
DeWolff watched the footage. She rewound it and watched it again.
It wasn’t very high quality – a rooftop nearby had a bar. Amateur videos were coming in by the hundreds, but the only useful ones could be counted on one hand. And the best of them was magnifying at about ten times the cell phone camera’s normal rate, leaving it blurry and pixelated and filled with that AI nonsense that every company seemed to slap on their electronics nowadays.
Even so, it was clear enough.
That was not Spider-Man.
That wasn’t the friendly neighbourhood vigilante that did flips for kids and walked the elderly across the street. That wasn’t the hyper-vigilant hero that prioritized every bystander in the wake of the most serious catastrophes.
She was looking at the Spider-Man that had flung the Scorpion by his tail into an approaching police cruiser, without a care for the damage or destruction it would cause. Maybe in spite of it or worse, because of it.
“Gary, did you see this?”
She stepped away from her desk, her body moving even as her eyes stayed locked as long as possible on the screen. Spider-Man did not commit undue acts of violence. But this – this was rage.
She tore her eyes away as she curved around her doorway and into the scramble of the NYPD. Gary was sitting in his office, next to hers. The same feed was on his monitor.
“Jean, what am I looking at?”
She shook her head. She didn’t know.
“The Hulk, for one.”
Gary gave her a deadpan stare.
“And Spider-Man.”
“That is not just the Hulk and Spider-Man. That is the Hulk taking a beating from Spider-Man. This is more than a bad day, or er– days. Now you tell me how long you’ve known he’s been able to do shit like that.”
She slumped into the only other chair in the room, despite the small stack of papers on it.
“Oh come on. Move them first.”
DeWolff promptly stood, yanked the sheets out from underneath her and splayed them across his desk. “Happy?”
“Not really. Are you going to answer my question?”
“I don’t know, Gary. I told you something was up with him. He’s a good guy – I don’t have to tell you that. But so is Bruce Banner and look what he turns into.” They both glanced at the monitor.
“Mutants,” Gary muttered, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes. “They’re unpredictable and they’re cropping up more and more – like weeds. Like that current case that Spider-Man was supposed to be helping you with. Got a profile on the mind-hacking psycho yet?”
DeWolff grimaced. “Spider-Man was handling it. Supposedly it wasn’t the Scorpion last night – he was just their puppet. Do you think whoever that was got into his head? He’d assured me that it wouldn’t – couldn’t affect him.”
Gary shrugged. “These things don’t come with instructions. All I’m seeing here are facts. One: there is a perp out there with a psychic ability hellbent on causing problems. Two: Spider-Man is acting unusually violent. What conclusion would you come to?”
DeWolff shook her head. “That’s not – that’s too simple. Spider-Man was fighting Scorpion when he turned violent. Why would this psychic pit them against each other?”
“Why is Spider-Man fighting the Hulk?” Gary countered.
“To keep New York safe? You know just as well as I do the destruction a rampaging Hulk could cause.”
“Think farther back. Why was the Hulk there? Bruce Banner hasn’t had an episode in years and he even has some pretty advanced tech – don’t give me that look it’s public knowledge, google it – keeping the Hulk locked away.”
“What answer do you want from me?” DeWolff raised her hands, exasperated. “I’m tired. I got my kids at home waiting for dinner. If you have something to say, just say it.”
Gary slid his glasses back on.
“What if our psychic got hold of Spider-Man–”
DeWolff opened her mouth to say something, but Gary held up a finger.
“–and is using him to lead us on – lead everyone on. Maybe they’re still learning the ropes, mutant minds and powers and who knows what has to be tricky to get down. They’re orchestrating situations to make Spider-Man look like the good guy, but we can tell something’s off.”
DeWolff licked her lips.
“If–” She started, clearing her throat, “that is the case. We’re in deep shit.”
Gary grimaced.
DeWolff continued. “Spider-Man has always pulled his punches. Roughs them up a little, but nothing worse than a few broken bones. But Gary, I’ve seen him throw buses to save people trapped under them. If that strength is used for harm…”
“We have to make a call.”
Her hands were cold. She curled her fingers, feeling the bite of her nails press into her palms.
“You want to put out an APB? For Spider-Man? There won’t be any going back from this. The news will get ahold of it. People will flock to social media. They’re going to want to know why the NYPD is targeting Spider-Man.”
Gary leaned back in his chair and shrugged.
“Sure, if you want to do it the hard way.”
DeWolff scrunched her eyebrows. “What other way is there?”
“You have his number, don’t you?”
It was a rhetorical question. They both knew the answer.
“Call him. Tell him he needs to come in to give a statement about what happened to Officer Samson. If he’s himself, he will happily agree to it because he probably feels really guilty. If he’s not, he still might agree to it to keep whatever cover this psychic is parading. When he shows up, we hold him.”
“That’s… Gary, we don’t have grounds.”
“Sure we do. Excessive force.” He gestured to the paused video on his monitor.
“You want to go with excessive force on the Hulk?” DeWolff couldn’t help the exasperation that punctuated her words. “No one is going to believe that.”
“They don’t have to. It’s reasonable enough grounds to hold him at least for a few hours. Enough time to look into who this psychic is and how they work. At best, they stay with him and we get some information. At worse, they abandon him and we get good old Spidey back.”
“I think you’re missing one crucial point here,” DeWolff reminded. “This is all based on your theory that he’d being… possessed by this psychic. What if that isn’t the problem? What if it’s something else?”
“Then we’re containing a threat. You said it yourself. He’d a good guy. If there’s something else up, we can figure it out together, but only once we know he’s not going to – accidentally or otherwise – hurt anyone else.”
Butterflies pooled in the pit of her stomach.
“And if he doesn’t want to stay? Can we contain him?”
“I’ll call Damage Control. Have some of their guys ready, just in case.”
DeWolff closed her eyes. She couldn’t help but reject this betrayal of trust. For her to contact him for this – Spider-Man would never believe her again, regardless of the outcome. She would be destroying all the rapport she’d built.
“You’d better be right about this.”
🕷
Bruce Banner tenderly touched his nose.
It hurt.
The last time he’d truly hurt – which had been much worse, mind – had been when he’d snapped the infinity gauntlet. While that had been a slow process to heal, it had been understandable. It had been a power capable of changing the entire universe.
A broken nose was nothing. But he’d never been injured through Hulk before. Even the beating that had scared Hulk from fighting Thanos hadn’t affected him, physically. Had it just been bad timing? It was remarkable in itself that Hulk retreated in the middle of a fight when really, that was what Hulk loved.
He was infantile in that sense – he had wants and desires the same as anyone else, but didn’t often know how to moderate them or understand the reasoning for doing so.
Bruce remembered the ash on his tongue. The rubble surrounding him. His stomach had dropped until he’d seen Spider-Man standing over him. The sight of the vigilante should have been reassuring, if he wasn’t so used to being the last one standing.
Then he’d tasted the blood from his nose. Saw it on Spider-Man’s fists. His blood was more than dangerous – it was radioactive. He seen the fallout from his own inhibitor allowing him to be injured… But Spider-Man hadn’t seem to care. He’d been detached from the urgency.
Bruce winced. He’d panicked. He hadn’t meant what he’d said. He’d just been shocked. Scared of the ramifications. Even when the Hulkbuster had knocked out the Hulk’s tooth, Hulk hadn’t cowered. When Hulk had cowered from Thanos, Bruce hadn’t bled for it. Things could go very badly when Bruce bled.
Spider-Man hadn’t understood his apprehension.
Don’t you know what it’s like to be a monster?
Bruce hadn’t known Spider-Man had an inhibitor.
The vigilante needed help. That was clear.
Not only with whatever telepathic threat they were facing. This went beyond that. For Spider-Man to use an inhibitor – to think he needed one – was preposterous. She-Hulk didn’t even need one. Bruce would need to talk to the man under the mask and get to the root of that fear.
That’s what it always boiled down to.
Fear.
Spider-Man feared himself enough to alter his biochemistry beyond mere suppression. Without considering the long-term implications of such focused tampering, it wouldn’t be sustainable. Bruce knew that battle. He was living proof that it wasn’t a permanent solution.
Could the young man he’d spoken to – it seemed like eons ago – have been Spider-Man? He’d taken a fake name and was obviously hiding his identity and intentions. Perhaps he was just desperate, undergoing new, possibly powerful, mutations he didn’t know how to deal with. He had sought out someone with expertise on the subject. But that had only been a day ago. If Spider-Man had managed such a feat in such a short amount of time… no, Bruce shouldn’t be surprised.
The way Tony had talked about the kid under the suit, drunk on vodka and caffeine and remorse during those late night after Thanos – Spider-Man was a marvel. Not only a genius, but a kind-hearted one.
That kind-hearted superhero slammed the Hulk back into you.
Bruce’s hand ghosted along the missing inhibitor on his arm.
He could have it reengineered, that wasn’t the problem. Whatever that psychic had done to his mind had broken the tenuous peace between himself and his other half. There would be no returning to Smart Hulk without the inhibitor. No, the big, green rage monster would be back with a vengeance. Back to the good old days.
Except, there was no Stark to rib him during his journey of self-discovery. No more cold coffee and colder truths in a run-down lab in Mexico. Times had changed and he thought he had changed with them. And he had, and he had new concerns along with the old. Getting himself his inhibitor back would be crucial. He would not be a threat.
He stewed in his room at whatever facility he’d been placed in. He was under ‘observation’. They all knew it was a farce. The government was just scared the Hulk had made such a problematic appearance after a decade of peaceful restraint. So much for his catchphrase of “Hulk out”. Kids wouldn’t be asking for pictures anymore – they would be running screaming.
Bruce’s heart twinged at that. He’d always loved the community side of things. He wanted to help people – but that psychic had ruined it. She fragmented the peace they’d had, shattered the duality they’d build. Back to square one.
But Bruce wasn’t a quitter. He would get there again with Hulk. He had to. Quickly.
“Hey buddy,” he spoke to himself, hoping that the Hulk was listening. He usually was, a passenger to Bruce’s driving. “How you feeling?”
The thing with Hulk was to understand he was just as much a person as anyone else. Once that was established, he could be reasoned with. It wasn’t easy, but it was possible. It had taken months of negotiating. He didn’t have months.
Unsure. The Hulk’s voice rumbled from deep within his head.
While Hulk wasn’t usually talkative, that was an unusual answer. But at least he answered. That was the first hurdle, overcome.
“What’s going on?” Bruce paused, dredging up his memories of Hulk’s encounter. “Did you like playing with Spider-Man?”
Hulk grumbled in his mind. Unfair.
“Why’s that? You asked him to.”
The Hulk’s displeasure flowed through Bruce. It wasn’t anger. It was dissatisfaction.
No good punch on strong spider.
Bruce remembered the fall. A little of what came before.
“You punched him a ton. You even thunder-clapped him.”
No! Puny spider. Strong spider no punch.
The gears started to turn in Bruce’s head.
“When did he go from puny spider to strong spider?”
Head smash. Puny turn strong.
Bruce understood now. He delved into the memory. It was hazy, but it was clear enough to know Hulk had Spider-Man by the head, smashing him into the concrete. It hadn’t looked good for the vigilante. After a couple hits something changed. Hulk stopped – or rather, Spider-Man had stopped Hulk and launched them both from the building.
“That must have been when you broke his inhibitor.”
Spider puny on purpose?
“Seems like it. He shouldn’t live like that, don’t you think?”
Hulk mused. Strength is good. Hulk strong. Banner strong.
For a moment, Bruce found himself touched. “Thanks Hulk. We make a good team, don’t we?”
Team. Team no more. Me want control. You pushed me away.
“I suppose I did. We were hurt. We needed to heal.”
Yes. Temporary. Became permanent. Bad Banner.
“Sorry, buddy. But you know I won’t let you out if you keep attacking people.”
What about play? Play with Spider. Ask first.
“Sometimes. We fight sometimes. But play… that’s dangerous.”
No! Hulk will play. Ask first.
“Okay. But only if he says yes.”
Yes. Hulk will ask. Spider will say yes. Spider strong. Strong likes to play.
“He might not be strong spider anymore. He wants to be puny spider. He uses the inhibitor, like I did so we could heal.”
Spider hurt?
“I don’t think so. I think he just doesn’t like strong.”
Stupid spider.
Banner chuckled. Hulk wasn’t wrong. But it wasn’t so simple.
“Do you want to help Spider-Man realize it’s good to be strong?”
Yes! Then Spider play with Hulk.
“Okay, then I have a plan. But we have to work together again. Be a team.”
Banner plan confusing. Hulk want smash.
“Soon. You’ll be able to ask Spider-Man to play yourself. But first we need to get out of here. We have to prove to the government that we can work together. What do you say?”
Me want control.
“We have to share. Like before. Smart Hulk.”
The Hulk squirmed at the name. Hulk no control. Banner Hulk body, Hulk stuck inside. Don’t like.
“It’s just for a little bit, buddy. You’ll get to play with Spider-Man after.”
Bruce sent an apology to Spider-Man for this. Hulk had latched onto him as an opponent and it was Bruce’s only bargaining chip. He would do what he had to.
Okay.
Bruce felt his body start to swell with power, but Hulk did not press against his mind. He stayed back, in the passenger seat, present but not overwhelming. Not quite as gone as he had been before with Smart Hulk, but enough.
Bruce flexed his fingers.
“Thanks.” He waved at the camera. “It’s alright now. Ask Damage Control about the telepath who got into my head. They controlled the Hulk. But I’m good – we’re still good. I don’t need to be here. Bloods all cleaned up too.”
No response.
Well, there was always option B.
Time to Hulk Smash.
🕷