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Hulk roared in displeasure as he leapt from the open plane into the midst of the battle. "HULK SMASH!" He roared in a guttural tone, before smacking one of the Doombots with the back of his hand, sending it flying through a nearby abandoned warehouse.
He leapt into the air, grabbing another three robots out of the air, and crushing them in his clenched fists, before tossing the debris in two separate throws at another incoming wave of green cloaked droids.
"Is it just me or is the big guy a little more pissed off and violent than normal?" Clint asked as he tracked his bow across the rough battlefield. Before he could even begin to loosen the still tightly drawn arrow notched in the string, the Hulk had already decimated the group the sharpshooter had been aiming at. "Seriously though, Stark. What did you do? Big green is all over the place and he's taking care of everyone. There's no one that I can shoot at without the Hulk already having taken care of them."
Iron Man spluttered through the comms as the palm repulsors began to glow, only to have the energy fade as the Hulk stomped onto the head of one of the last of the enemies. "I swear that I didn't do it. Maybe the Hulk, just wants to blow off some steam, you know it's been almost a month since the last code green clearance we've had for battle, and training sessions can only do so much when you're not allowed to.. do that." He finished weakly, watching as the Hulk proceeded to rip the arms out of the last Doombots, before ripping the head off with his mouth before crushing it in between his teeth.
Natasha smirked from where she was sitting, perched up on a pile of debris from Hulk's battle controlled rampage. "Banner's going to have one hell of a toothache of the Hulk doesn't floss his teeth before he shrinks back."
Steve coughed. "You know, we're still in uniform and we were called out for an official battle."
"Blah blah blah, Capsicle. Live a little. The Hulk's taken care of everything so why don't we go celebrate since none of us were even needed?" Iron Man landed on the battlefield next to Captain America and slung an arms around Steve's shoulders, while he pointed at Hulk with the other. "Hey, Hulksie. Wanna give me back my lab partner so that we can go for drinks?"
Tony let his hand fall as Hulk simply roared at him in anger, before jumping back into the belly of the plane, barely shrinking down in time to avoid having a Hulk sized hole in the belly of the Quinjet.
"Ok, then I guess not, oh well! More alcohol for the rest of us. Who else is coming with?" Tasha, Clint? You two in or not?"Natasha shrugged her shoulders, before neatly stepping down from the upturned rubble of cracked cement and formerly underground pipes, into thin air. With practiced ease, Tony placed his hand flat underneath her foot, allowing Natasha to use him as a stepladder. Clint landing on the ground in a tucked and roll, before popping up at Steve's other side, neatly tucking his bow back away, before shaking out his shoulders.
"You're paying Stark, you know that, right?" Natasha trailed her fingers gently across Clint's shoulder as the Quinjet hovering overhead slowly lowered itself onto the ground; the hatch scraping against the filthy rubble strewn ex-battlefield covered in the debris of Doom's latest batch of Doombots, thereby allowing the other four Earth bound Avengers to climb onboard.
Quietly snoozing on one of the seats in the corner was Bruce covered in one of the heavy blankets that Tony had thought to keep stashed on board after a particularly nasty Avengers mission when a one time villain that they had fought had thought it funny to throw them into their respective nightmares. Natasha clambered into the copilot seat, allowing Coulson the time to exchange seats with Clint, before he clicked his pen and began the post mission battle reports.
Bruce had been having a bad day. Notwithstanding that it was Friday the Thirteenth, he'd been having minor troubles with small things. Small things that when Tony looked it up on the Internet translated into various symbols of bad luck.
There'd been the incident with the coffee machine not working earlier, and Bruce having to run across the street for coffee from the Starbucks, but it'd been absolutely pouring out, and he'd opened his umbrella indoors, twice. Because he hadn't wanted to be standing in the torrential downpour because he couldn't get his umbrella open.
And when he had made it into the street after grabbing his decaffeinated tea, a passing car had hit a puddle and soaked him head to toe, thereby rendering his umbrella useless.
And before he'd made it across the street again, a small black kitten had crossed his path directly in front of him.
And then as soon as he’d entered Stark Tower again, he’d slipped in a small puddle of wet, green paint and pinwheeled through an open ladder, knocking both it and him down, and then he’d watched as the ladder slowly, slowly toppled over and crashed smack into the small stack of decorative mirrors that the workers had brought with to redecorate Stark Tower. The entire stack, every single one of the mirrors were either completely shattered to glass dust or had at least a crack running through it. Every single mirror in the stack leaning against the wall that was the size of a large terracotta potted plant bowl. And the impact of the ladder,had punched a medium sized hole through the wall, as well as knocked a painting off it’s hook on the wall and had caused it to come crashing to the ground, splintering the frame and sending small shards of wood out into the open lobby. People had stopped to stare, at the twisted and broken wooden frame of the painting, before scanning their eyes over the broken mirrors and the ladder poking through the wall, before resting on him, still sitting on the floor with no-longer-hot coffee soaking into his pants.
It had taken him over two hours of incessant apologies and grabbing a broom, to sweep up the mess he’d made before they let him leave, and even then only so because he’d swept all the broken glass he could find into a pile, thoroughly dusting of his shoes using the broom by accident while doing so.
He’d finally made his escape up to the lab just in time for Tony to come in carrying Chinese takeout. He’d told Tony to set them on his desk and that they could eat there, and headed off to toss his empty Starbucks cup into the trash and wash his hands.
He’d come back to his desktop to find Tony trying to find open space to put the dishes, and he’d accidentally swept his paper files into a pile with a swish of his arm, knocking his empty beaker, part of a gift from Tony, off the table and having it shatter on initial impact with the floor of the lab. And then after they’d cleaned up that mess, Bruce had been reaching for a pair of chopsticks when he’d tipped over the salt, and why had he kept salt in his lab on his desk, again? And after the salt spill, he’d stuck his chopsticks upright into his vegetable fried rice to keep them from falling all over the desk and creating an even bigger mess on his desk, while he drank from the glass of water that he had filled at the sink.
And then, there was the last thing. He’d entered through the front door of the lobby, but then they’d exited the building via quinjet through the tunnel in the sub basement of the Tower.
Tony shook his head as the superstitions scrolled across his sight. All these things that’d happened to Bruce were simply bad luck, but it was almost ridiculous how many things had happened… it was almost magical, how unlucky Bruce was today, he mused. He stopped short, watching as the hatch opened, showing the sub-basement of Stark Tower and an enraged Bruce pushing past him.
Bruce stopped in the center of the room and took a deep breath, then howled “LOKI!” with the Hulk’s vocal emphasis, although it was pure Bruce.