A/N: …I haven't been able to think of anything new for my regular stories recently so I started doing Drabbles.

Disclaimer: I own nothing of these franchises. Just wanted to write a little bit for practice.

Crossover: HP x Avengers

Hulk and Harry

Harry had always been able to sense things, danger and the like. It was a skill that had grown stronger after the defeat of Voldemort and his banishment from Britain because he was 'too powerful and a liable public danger of unmanageable proportions.' Fine with leaving the fame and insanity behind, he'd accepted his banishment to the New World amicably. The fact his family, friends, and followers (what they called themselves not him) had easily joined him, leaving the fools to destroy themselves made it easy. The last he heard, Ron and Hermione still got the Prophet, they'd elected someone even stupider than Fudge and were currently trying to make people register their wand with a tracer that would monitor for anything 'dark.' More like anything intelligent, Harry thought with ill humor. Wiping his counter, he had to hold back a snort. His little shop was well run. Percy and his wife Audrey served as his accountants, while Mrs. Weasley assisted him in baking and food prep. Hermione often mentioned to her colleagues and clients his little shop. Sending him business, though he did give them a really great discount if they mentioned they knew her. The rest of the Weasley children were doing their respective jobs, Ron joining the Weasley twins at their new shop as a business manager, and Ginny recruited into one of the minor Quidditch leagues. Bill and Charlie lived abroad, Bill in France closer to Fleur's family, and Charlie still in Romania with his dragons. Mr. Weasley, to Harry's amusement, was attending classes at the local magic college to earn a degree in Muggle Studies and Culture, he no longer asked what a rubber duck was for and could actually argue Muggle politics with Hermione. His godson, Teddy, lived with him, as had Andromeda up until her death a few years ago. The eight year old was a bundle of energy and cheer. The duo lived above his shop in a renovated two story apartment.

The door's bell chimed gently and Harry glanced up with a warm smile. "Welcome," he said to the tired and slightly slumped figure of an older man wearing rather rectangular glasses and a rather battered outfit. He reminded him of Remus, making the wizard's heart squeeze painfully for a moment.

"Hello," the man said coming to the counter. Harry's soft smile gentled further and he cocked a head back to look at the slightly taller man.

"What can I get you?" Harry asked as the darkened eyes trailed almost listlessly over the options and display case.

"I'll have a house coffee and an order of cheese croissant." He said wearily. Harry smiled and nodded.

"Any milk or sugar?" He asked as he wrote the order out on his little pad, the pen's movement graceful.

"Just put it on the side?" He said after a pause. Harry nodded and he fished for his wallet. Harry merely shook his head.

"Pay when you leave," he said kindly. "Go rest, you look like a single gentle breath could knock you over." The man looked startled but agreed and shuffled off to an armchair. The little shop weren't filled with dining tables and stiff wooden chairs as one would expect but comfortable armchairs and small side tables just large enough for a single serving tea set. Stepping into his back area, he disappeared from sight.

Bruce sunk into the armchair with great pleasure. The seat was covered in a thick, soft fabric and overstuffed. He stretched his legs out and thought over what had happened in the past few months. He'd joined the Avengers, but it was oddly exhilarating and exhausting at the same time. He had found a purpose and companionship, but he also had to push himself to keep control. Lost in his thoughts he missed the shop owner's almost cat like approach and startled slightly when the delicate clink of china could be heard.

"Your drink sir," the young man, well gentleman, said kindly. "If you wish for a refill, do let me know." Giving the man a surprised nod, he watched him disappear back to his spot behind the counter. Pouring himself his first cup, he fixed it how he liked it and allowed the remaining tension in his back and neck to evaporate. The almost thin bone china fitted his fingers and he held it gently as one would with an injured bird. A surprising red color, he took his first sip from the cup after enjoying the heady scent that wafted off it. The peacefulness of the whole shop seemed to be absorbed into him via osmosis. His dark demeanor giving way to his lethargy. More customers came in, some taking warm cups to go, or seating themselves in their own little nests of tranquility, cups of tea and coffee soothing or invigorating.

Bruce quickly lost track of time, his pot filled at random when it ran out, the little pitcher cream replaced with an almost stealthy knowledge. The sugar cubes, something he'd used to snack on sneakily as a child, were never missing from his bowl and the croissants were delicious in their flaky and buttery qualities. Finally, Bruce was snapped out of his quiet moment by the gentle touch of a hand on his shoulder.

"My apologies," the barista said, "but I am closing in about thirty minutes and wished to know if you wanted one last refill." The scientist stared at him, his mouth dropping open in disbelief. Glancing at his watch, he confirmed the time. In roughly thirty minutes it would be ten-thirty. He'd spent the entire day, almost nine hours seated in this one spot idling away. He hadn't even had a book with him!

Staring into those patient green eyes he realized that he hadn't answered for several minutes and rushed to fix it. "Sorry," he said a bit sheepishly, "I hadn't realized I'd stayed so long." The man merely smiled and shook his head in gentle reprimand.

"It is fine, I often have people settle in my shop, sitting and enjoying their selves. More than one person has entered at the very beginning of the day and left only a minute before it ends. It isn't a problem unless you made one for yourself." The slightly taller and older man merely shook his head.

"I'm fine without any more coffee," he said, "I'll take my check though."

"Of course, are you sure you don't wish for anything to go or eat? You've seemed to only have the croissants in the last few hours." The Avenger merely shook his head.

"I'm fine," he assured him.

"Okay then," the barista said taking out his pad and quickly finding the slip needed. He did a quick calculation and scribbled out the amount owed on the bottom before ripping it out in a crisp manner and handing it over. Surprised by the low price, he'd had to his estimate three to four pots of coffee alone, and more than one croissant he glanced at the man in askance and earned a bland and almost sneakily cheerful smirk in return. Shaking his head he pulled out a twenty and told him to keep the change. Rolling his eyes, the barista took it and pocketed it in his apron before saying.

"Have a good evening sir. Peaceful Times will be here when you wish to visit us next." Blinking at him, Bruce felt a soft smile appear on his face.

"I'll remember that, good night." And for the first time in a long time, Bruce left someplace more comfortable than when he came.