A/N: I regret nothing. (Credit to Devryn and Jeemers for pairing inspiration. Deepest, deepest apologies to the Kool-Aid Man.)

There Will Be Kool-Aid

JARVIS, personal mechanical assistant to Tony Stark, Esq., scanned the face currently occupying the space just outside the entrance to Stark Tower, trying to get a read. This was difficult, as the face was darting wildly to and fro, no doubt in conjunction with the body to which it belonged. Mr. Stark had given no instructions regarding the treatment of visitors whose faces were neither recognized nor unrecognized.

"Come on, JARVIS!" came a voice from the face. Its hand pounded on the large metal door.

Activating voice recognition software…

"Good afternoon, Dr. Banner," JARVIS said. The door's intricate locking system began to disengage.

"Finally!" cried the visitor, hurling himself through the gap between door and wall as soon as it was wide enough to admit him. Once inside, he looked around frantically.

"Where is he?"

"Mr. Stark is in his workshop," JARVIS replied.

"Well—page him for me or something! Whatever it is you do." Dr. Banner continued to pace restlessly, running his hand through his hair.

"Would you like a glass of brandy, sir?"

"What I'd like is to talk to Tony! Now!" He placed his hands on the back of a sofa and took a deep breath. "The last thing I need right now is a stimulant."

"What's going on?" Tony Stark had appeared in the doorway, brushing some debris from his clothes.

"Ah, Mr. Stark," said JARVIS. "Dr. Banner—"

"Pipe down, JARVIS. Wasn't talking to you." Tony looked more closely at Bruce. "In fact, why don't you take a nap?"

"But sir—"

"I'll manage."

"Very well, sir." Immediately the sounds of JARVIS' shutdown procedure testified to his obedience.

"Okay, Godzilla. You look nuts. What's up?"

Bruce collapsed into a recliner and buried his face in his hands. "I really screwed up this time, Tony."

"You don't say. You mean you singlehandedly leveled an entire borough of New York causing billions of dollars in damage? I seem to recall doing something like that."

"You don't get it, Tony!" Bruce yelled, slamming his fists down onto Tony's minimalistic glass coffee table. A small crack appeared in its surface.

"Just…ignore that," said Tony.

"I…I'm a fugitive," Bruce whispered, staring straight ahead in horror.

Tony stroked his chin for a moment before shaking his head. "I give up. How exactly is this news?"

Bruce looked up at Tony for the first time. His eyes were panicked and red. "Tony…I think I killed him."

Steve Rogers was on his way to S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters to celebrate his recent acquisition of a driver's license with Hawkeye and Agent Hill. But as he passed the row of town homes Natasha had settled in recently, he saw flashing lights and emergency vehicles gathered in her driveway.

Concerned, he pulled over and leapt out of his car. As he approached the house, however, he was stopped abruptly by an armed police officer.

"Sir, this is a crime scene. I'm going to have to ask you to step away."

"I just want to see Miss Romanoff. Is she okay?"

"Steve!" Natasha had appeared in the doorway of her temporary residence, her face glistening with tears. Without another word she rushed out of the house and threw her arms around him.

"What in the world happened?" Steve asked, bewildered.

Natasha looked up at him in anguish. "It's Red," she said. "Bruce…he…ohhhh!" She began to sob.

"Just…just calm down, ma'am," Steve consoled her, reverting to his army crisis training. "Start at the beginning."

He led Natasha to a patio chair, where she took a few deep shuddering breaths. "Bruce had come over to watch the game with Red and me," she began. "It was going well until the last quarter. Then the Cavs fell behind. Red is…was…oh, no, no, no!" It was a moment before she was able to continue. "Red's a big Lakers fan. He couldn't resist, well, rubbing it in. Kobe hit a 3-pointer at the buzzer to win the game, and…Bruce lost it. He went green, you know? He started smashing everything, and…and…oh, come and see!"

She gripped Steve by the arm and dragged him into the house, despite the officer's protests. The sight that greeted them was unlike anything Steve had ever seen.

A large part of the living room carpet was stained a deep shade of scarlet and there were shards of glass everywhere. A lone glass hand lay poignantly at their feet.

A crime scene photographer standing near them shook his head. "I've never seen so much Kool-Aid," he said incredulously.

"A five-cent package makes two quarts," Steve murmured.

Natasha turned to him sharply. "Are you saying he had a five-cent package?" she snapped.

"I…no, that's not…I just…"

"You're just as bad as Clint!" she yelled. "He never understood what Red and I had! And now it's gone! Just go away and leave me alone!"

Steve walked slowly from the house and got back behind the wheel of his car. He wondered if it would be insensitive to resume his planned driver's license party. Then he remembered Maria was bringing Rotel. He grinned and kicked his engine into gear.

"OH YEAH!"