A/N:
Umm, hello? Anyone still out there? If yes, then I'm sorry for the insane wait since the last chapter. I had such plans for this chapter, but then it got away from me and nothing that I had planned happened.
I hope you all enjoy grammar errors, because this beast is un-beta'd and probably littered with them.
In my defense, it's after 5:00am and I've been up all night, so I apologize if it reads rushed and punchy.
As much as people poked fun at Sam's 6'4" frame, it occasionally did present a legitimate 'big and tall' problem, especially when crammed into average sized clothing. Looking at his reflection in the mirror of his changing room, Sam's only consolation was the thought that if he looked ridiculous in the "one size fits all" SHIELD-issued spandex shorts and t-shirt, then Dean must be looking extra stupid. If only because he'd be so clearly uncomfortable in gym wear. At least, that's what Sam told himself as he futilely attempted to adjust his shirt, which seemed determined to live life as a crop top. He admitted defeat when his shorts, apparently inspired by his slut of a shirt, decided to forgo decency and wedged themselves up into hot pants territory. Ignoring the ridiculous amount of man thigh he was displaying, Sam chose to instead embrace the fact that he was now able to tuck his shirt into his shorts. He just prayed to an absent Chuck that they stayed connected.
Upon exiting the changing room, he was met with the aggravating sight of Dean wearing the exact same clothes he'd been in since yesterday. Sam could feel his expression morph into what Dean described as bitch face #5.
"Nice spanx, Samantha."
As his jerk of a brother smirked at him, Sam's bitch face escalated to #8, "Why the hell haven't you changed?"
"Into that skintight onesie? Pass."
Sam huffed angrily and made for the door, "You know they're gonna be putting us through our paces, right? Exactly how easy do you think sit-ups and push-ups are going to be in jeans and steel-toed leather boots?"
"Aside from my birthday suit, my best work is done in denim and leather." Dean boasted, but Sam could see the worry etching its way across his features at the horror of heart healthy exercise.
Sam grinned evilly at the prospect and would've rubbed his hands together with malevolent glee, but said appendages were busy pulling at his shorts which had crept up even further into some very uncomfortable and indecent nooks and crannies.
Coulson met them outside of the locker room and didn't even blink at Dean's lack of appropriate attire. He clearly had Dean's number. He did, however, blink quite a few times at Sam's ill-fitting ensemble and had to noticeably quell the humor threatening to take over his face as he apologized.
"I apologize for the insufficient fit of SHIELD's standard issue training uniform. If you would like to wait a moment, more suitable attire can be retrieved."
While attempting to discreetly dislodge the shorts from his most indecent cranny, a pissed off Sam replied, "We've wasted enough time. Let's just get this over with so Dean and I can go stop the demon that's killing children as we all stand here."
All traces of humor left Coulson's face. He didn't bother refuting Sam's demon claim, just simply nodded and wordlessly led them into SHIELD's underground training facility, the sight of which left Sam and Dean flabbergasted.
Approximately the size of an airplane hangar, its location below Manhattan shouldn't have been physically possible. A massive rock wall to their right led climbers to a pedway ending in a dark doorway, indicating even more space beyond the current chamber. They watched as an agent who had been scaling the wall finally reached the top, unhooked his safety harness, pulled out his gun, and disappeared into the darkness to face whatever lurked beyond.
Dean turned to take in the rest of the room and felt a cold chill as he was met with all manner of unspeakable horror. A sea of treadmills, stationary bikes, ellipticals (not that Dean knew wtf they were), and countless machines and equipment filled an entire half of room.
As Coulson led them towards the cursed objects, Dean quietly mumbled a desperate, "Cas, man, about that 'profound bond' you keep mentioning, now would be a friggin' awesome time to put up, not shut up."
It was definitely a little concerning that Cas wasn't answering them, but there was a noticeable pep in Sam's step as he listened to his brother's unanswered pleas to be rescued from his cardio-filled fate. Coulson led them towards an office at the back of the room, ignoring the stares their trio garnered by the other occupants using the space. Sam and Dean could just make out the peanut gallery's confused muttering as they passed.
"Uh, what is Agent Coulson doing here? He never comes in here. This is supposed to be a safeplace! My safeplace!" An agent started melting down into a frazzled mess.
The other agents rolled their eyes, "Calm down, Jeffries. Coulson clearly has more important things to do than ream you out again for blowing the Cranston case."
"And he barely even said anything to you when he did."
In a shaky, traumatized voice, Jeffries explained, "It was the eyes, man. You want disappointed Coulson eyes in your life?"
The mocking commentary was replaced with horrified silence.
SHIELD's Director of Physiotherapy, Dr. Dennis Greer looked up in surprise as the infamous Agent Coulson entered his office. He immediately stood and extended his hand, which Coulson shook.
"Agent Coulson, sir! How many I be of service?" He nodded at the two agents behind Coulson in greeting, "Agents", and was a little taken aback when the one in plain-clothes snorted derisively.
"Good Day, Dr. Greer. I apologize for the lack of notice, but as a matter of urgency, I need two physical aptitude tests conducted immediately. Also for the sake of expediency, both tests will be conducted jointly."
The aptitude assessments were completed quarterly for specific circumstances: when the season's new recruits were being certified and annual certification renewal.
Each year he was tasked with creating a new test, ensuring both the agents' skills and SHIELD's evaluation didn't become stagnant by repeating the same test year after year. He prided himself on each test being more challenging, more painful, and more taxing than its predecessor. The seasoned agents both anticipated and dreaded their yearly recertification, knowing his course was no joke, but enjoying the comradery the quarterly event generated. The agents amped the event up until it was essentially considered SHIELD's own America Ninja Warrior. They used SHIELD's permanent in-house obstacle course to train for the event and place bets beforehand.
This year's aptitude assessment was set to reoccur in approximately 1.5 months for a fourth and final run. Setting up the course took roughly a week, requiring significant man power and organization. To administer this year's field course right now, with absolutely no prior notification, was literally impossible, but he could certainly create and conduct a version scaled to time.
He led them out of his office and towards the equipment and began formulating an outline, "I'll get them hooked up to monitors and started on calisthenics. I can incorporate aspects of the quarterly assessment; however, we will have to use the in-house obstacle course. The only real complication is recruiting agents for the combat section as I am unaware which agents are available to participate."
Sam and Dean looked at each other, the same thought running through their heads, 'Combat section?'
"I'll take care of that detail. The agents will be ready whenever you are," Coulson assured Greer before turning to the two Winchesters. "Gentlemen, I am aware this is not where you'd prefer to be; however, please keep in mind that this is a test, and like all tests there is a potential for failure. If your performance does not meet SHIELD's standards, then we will be unable to clear you as field-ready. I could say we will make this quick and painless; however, it is almost guaranteed to be painful and the duration is ultimately up to you."
After dropping that mic, Coulson nonchalantly turned and left, leaving a pair of semi-stunned brothers in his wake.
Phil knew that he and Nick were putting the Winchesters in a hell of a situation. A situation, he could admit, that was not entirely necessary. Yes, Sam and Dean both needed to be certified in order to be "officially" dispatched by SHIELD; however, if Coulson and Fury had any doubt in the abilities of their agents and Avengers, then the two supernatural consultants would be out there right now, to hell with the assessment. The opportunity to officially evaluate Sam and Dean was simply too tempting to pass up and would provide valuable insight into their abilities, and SHIELD's subsequent recruitment strategy.
Greer addressed the two men before him, "Alright, Agents –"
"-we're not agents," Dean was quick to shirk that label.
Greer's brow furrowed, "Pardon?"
"We're not a couple of SHIELD monkeys. No offense."
"May I ask why you're being tested, then?"
Dean just shrugged, forgoing a verbal answer.
Greer was confused, but got to work. Coulson wanted these two tested, so that it is what Greer would do.
"Regardless, I will take some preliminary measurements and then you will began with stretching, calisthenics, and then the actual assessment will begin." He motioned them to follow as he made his way towards a bunch of mats.
"Cali-what-ics?" Dean had no clue what the hell kind of word that was, but he was pretty sure it didn't bode well for him. Especially if Sam's smug smirk was any indication. He sent out yet another mental plea, 'Goddamn, Cas! Where are you, man?!'
Dr. Greer recorded their initial blood pressure, heart rate, and lung capacity – 'Excellent, Mr. Winchester. Excellent.' (Directed at Sam). No comment for Dean's results, which were average (if he knew Dean's diet, he'd be impressed). He then attached remote monitors to record blood pressure and heartrate for the duration of the assessment.
Greer led them over to the mats and instructed, "Alright, over here I'm going to ask you to do some calisthenics, or bodyweight exercises, targeting your chest, legs, and arms. As we're pressed for time, I simply want you to do as many as you possibly can of each. As soon as one of you can no longer continue on with a specific exercise, both of you will move on to the next. A friendly competition, if you will: who can outlast the other?"
He walked them through a series of stretches first. Sam almost lost it at Dean's attempt to touch his toes. While Sam's hands were flat on the ground ("Easy as pie, Dean!"), Dean's hands made it just past his knees.
Dean huffed and puffed out the words, "Shove it, Gumbi", as his arms struggled to extend a little more towards the steel-toes of his boots.
Greer watched Dean suffer through stretches and decided that would have to be good enough. He directed the two men to lie on the mats and begin an array of exercises, such as push-ups, sit-ups, and squats.
Sam, as Dr. Greer anticipated, performed outstandingly. Barely breaking a sweat as he motored through. Dean, on the other hand, struggled in comparison. And while his bulky attire certainly wasn't doing him any favours, Sam simply outclassed him in every single exercise. To be fair, Sam was in excellent, peak condition. If Dean went head to head with an average SHIELD agent, Greer was sure he'd do fine.
20 minutes later saw Dean pushing through a pretty tragic sit-up (number 45). By the time he'd finished it, he was red-faced and sweating and Sam had breezed through five. Unfortunately for Dean, whose performance so far met SHIELD's average and wasn't anything to scoff at, when directly compared to his brother, he appeared paltry and lacking. Especially since Sam was now shirtless, having literally ripped his shirt in two after his first sit-up.
Putting Dean out of his misery, Dr. Greer stated, "That's enough. You can stop. We'll start the next phase in just a moment.
"Oh, thank god." Dean let out a gust of breath and immediately aborted sit-up #46 in favour of flopping down, completely spread-eagle, onto his back.
Hidden behind a one-way mirror on the upper level, the agents Coulson had collected snickered at Dean's performance.
"This is what we have to fight? Talk about easy money."
"Yeah, too bad Thompson's all busted up. He's missing out."
"Does pathetic guy look familiar to anyone else?"
The 6 agents looked at Dean more closely while Coulson inwardly smirked. He was fully aware they had all been teasing poor Thompson after Dean had taken him out.
"No way...is that…Thompson's hamburglar?!" There was a literal gasp of surprise from the group. "What the hell is he doing here?"
As one, the agents all looked to Coulson expecting answers, which he did not deign to provide, "Are belated congratulations in order, agents? I seem to have missed the promotion dictating I answer to you."
He gave them a moment to fully realize their gross overstep and feel the weight of his unimpressed stare. Silencing the rushed apologizes with a wave of an impatient hand, he continued, "Who they are and why they are here is not up for discussion. All you need to know is that you are here to provide a physical challenge representative of SHIELD, so I expect you to conduct yourselves accordingly."
Going against the unknown would be good for his agents. In actuality, this was as much of a test for them as for Dean and Sam. Coulson was not one for giddiness, but he was very much anticipating the results.
Unfortunately for Coulson, it was at that exact moment his comm went off. His already silent agents almost didn't dare to breathe at the sight of Coulson's face somehow growing more serious. After a moment of listening, Coulson's stated, "I'll have them there as soon as possible, Captain."
Striding towards the doors, he didn't even look at his agents as he informed them they were no longer needed.
As soon as Sam and Dean saw Coulson's demeanor upon re-entering the training room, they knew something was wrong.
"The assessment will need to be postponed, gentlemen. It seems you were correct in your first analysis of the situation and are needed immediately onsite. Please follow me to the helicopter."
"Helicopter? As in a gigantic carrier pigeon of death? I'd rather Stonehenge drive."
Coulson looked at Dean and then at Sam, "Pardon?"
Realizing Dean was about to protest their fastest form of transportation, Sam turned to his brother, firmly gripped him by the shoulders, and spoke directly into his face, "Dean, I know being carted away in a flying eggbeater is scary." Dean nodded. "But you need to GET. YOUR. SHIT. TOGETHER." With each word, Sam shook Dean, as if he could physically shake some sense into his irrational brain.
As the soft sympathy in Sam's voice hardened into unsympathetic realness, Dean's expression went from comforted to betrayed.
"Dude."
The agents watched from above as Sam proceeded to shove his brother out the doors behind Coulson.
"Mr. Parker! Where exactly do you think you're going?"
Peter stopped dead in his tracks and slumped his shoulders in defeat at being caught trying to escape the semi-organized mob of students herding towards the gym. After Mr. Stark had called Peter in the middle of class, Mr. Harrington had made quick work of alerting the Principal, who then ordered all students and teachers to the gym. The school was officially on lockdown. Nobody in or out. Peter had expected slipping away to be easy in the panicked chaos, but it was proving super difficult under the surprisingly vigilant eyes of his teacher. And instead of panicking, most of the students were goofing around, enjoying being out of class.
"Uhh…" Peter instinctively looked to Ned for help.
Ned, out his chair and therefore out of his element, unhelpfully supplied, "Uhh…clams! Peter ate some bad clams for breakfast and now he has…the...diarrhea...?"
Not only did Ned lie terribly, he also lied loudly. Most of their classmates heard him his declaration that Peter had a chronic case of #2.
"Eww!"
"Gross, Parker."
With every fiber of his being, Peter fought against the urge to web himself into the vents and die. Instead he focused on appearing as if he was about to explode gastrointestinally.
Mr. Harrington watched, unimpressed and unconvinced, as Peter began moaning and groaning and clutching his stomach as if suffering from clam-induced agony. The same Peter Parker who had been completely fine up until literally two seconds ago.
The spectacle was interrupted by an empty soda bouncing off the side of Peter's head. "Ow!"
"Ha! Nailed it!" Flash's victorious, douchey voice came from about 15 feet away behind a bunch of students.
"Detention, Mr. Thompson. We don't throw things and we don't litter."
The surrounding students laughed. Mr. Harrington sighed. This is what he got for wanting to teach; to do his part in ensuring the future wasn't inundated with mindless nincompoops. He should've just taught elementary school - virtually the same, but with less hormones.
"Please proceed to the gym, Mr. Parker. The facility, fortunately enough, houses both a washroom and a nurses station should your ailment prove too severe…or real."
"Yes sir." Peter muttered, head hanging low. He shuffled until he assimilated seamlessly back into the mob of students which continued swarming its way towards the gym.
"Clams, Ned? Really?" Peter criticized.
"Hey, mollusks can kill," Ned defended his choice. "What are you gonna do now?"
Peter took out his phone and sent a text to Mr. Stark, "I'll have to let Mr. Stark know that I might not be able to make it out to help."
He immediately got a responding text, which likely meant Mr. Stark was in the suit relaying through Jarvis: Parker, under no circumstances are you and your footie pyjamas to leave preschool. I am not joking. If I see even a hint of your brightly coloured unitard, you'll be grounded for the rest of the year and I'll take the suit back. Again.
Peter's heart sank upon reading the text.
Ned, leaning over to read it, let out a pitying, "Grounded by Ironman? Embarrassing. Does May know she has a co-parent?"
"Yes, unfortunately. They have teleconferences and everything," A prospect that Peter was initially thrilled about, but the novelty quickly wore off as soon as Mr. Stark and Aunt May started discussing curfews and bedtimes like he was five years old. "Ugh, what am I gonna do?"
They finally reached the gym and were piling onto the bleachers alongside everyone else. Ned looked at him like he was stupid, "Umm…maybe listen to the genius/billionaire/philanthropist/IRONMAN and not rush towards certain doom?"
Peter waved aside Ned's valid, life-saving advice and tried to figure out the best way to sneak out of the gym. "What if you create a distraction and I slink away?"
"Slink away?" Ned repeated flatly. "Leaving me to deal with the distraction's aftermath, probably resulting in my suspension?"
"Argh! They could need me and here I am trapped! Too stupid to figure my way out of a high school gym." Agonized, Peter put his head in his hands and pulled on his hair, as if he could literally pull an idea out of his skull.
Ned could only take about five seconds of his bestfriend's pain before caving, "Ugh, I hate you. Fine. I'll 'create a distraction' so you can go get yourself killed."
Peter looked up in surprise and smiled in relief, "Really? You're the best!"
"Yeah, well, you're the worst. Officially."
Before either of them could say anything else the shrill, tooth-rattling clanging of the school's fire alarm went off, accompanied seconds later by the sprinkler system. What had been a pretty subdued and civil quarantine, quickly turned insane. The teachers were incapable of dealing with the cumulative brute force of the rampaging students. Everyone was making for the exits, apparently convinced they were about to be burned alive.
Peter and Ned looked at each other in surprise.
"Yes!" Luckily nobody heard Peter's highly ill-timed celebration as he and Ned stood and followed the rush of freaking teenagers.
Getting to his locker was ridiculously easy. It was so chaotic, he probably could've changed into his suit right in the hallway and nobody would've noticed. He grabbed everything he needed and made for the front doors, figuring he'd be able to walk right out. In the event of a fire, Midtown High's fire safety protocol mandated the students congregate in front of the school, a minimum of 30 feet from the doors. Not a single student was adhering to that policy. There were kids clumped around the doorway, strewed about the stairs, faffing about around the sides of the school. It was a shit show. By the looks of it, the students had quickly gotten over their panic in the gym and the danger headed towards their school. Mostly there were murmurs about how someone prank-pulled the fire alarm and set off the sprinklers.
"I almost wish the fire was real. That way we could burn off some of this chaff."
Peter and Ned were startled as MJ's voice came from their right. Looking over at her, they followed her disdainful gaze which was focused on Flash who was bullying a small freshman.
With an aggrieved sigh, MJ stalked off to save the student, muttering, "Time to go help out yet another loser today."
Puzzled, Ned looked at Peter, who was too busy looking for his best exit to ponder the potential revelation in MJ's words.
"Alright, now's my best chance. I'll try to be back as quickly as possible. If the teacher comes looking for me don't say clams."
"Blame the mollusks. I'm on it."
"Come on, man!"
Ned shrugged, unconcerned with Peter's aversion to his cover of choice, "I live in the moment, so we'll see."
Shaking his head, Peter turned and as casually as possible strolled out the front gates and onto the sidewalk. As soon as he was no longer in sight of the school he started running. Hunkering behind a dumpster at the end of the nearest alley, he swiftly changed into his suit.
"Good day, Peter!" The friendly tone of Karen greeted him. "Shouldn't you be in first period right now?"
"Hey Karen. Uh, yeah. School's cancelled on account of the monster headed towards it."
"How fortuitous, considering the odds of you failing your Spanish test today were approximately 93%."
Instead of studying last night like he was supposed to, Peter had spent his evening stopping a few robberies, saving a hotdog cart from rolling into traffic (scored a free hotdog outta that one), rescuing a cat stranded on a 5th floor ledge, and then ended his night by saving a pigeon stuck in a gutter. All the while Karen's helpful reminders of how he needed to study droned on in the background. Peter loved Karen, but could do with less of the school-marming. It put a bit of a damper on the BAMF superhero thing. Peter was sure Mr. Stark wrote something in Karen's code to make her such a stickler for schoolwork. Ned had looked, but hadn't been able to locate any code of the sort. Admittedly, Tony was the Tony Starkso obviously Ned couldn't be expected to understand 100% of his coding.
"Yeah. Fortuitous," Peter began climbing the building for a better vantage point. "You got anything on the situation?"
"Sure do! There is a disturbance over on –"
"Whoa! Yeah, I see it!" As soon as Peter reached the top of the building, he saw the massive amounts of damage a few blocks over. He could also hear the sirens and general commotion all part and parcel of shit hitting the fan. He swung his way over so he could stand on top of the building closest to the fight (without being seen by Ironman, hopefully) to assess, "Holy Shit!"
"Language!" Karen's voice cheerfully chastised. Peter completely ignored his AI's mothering in favour of taking in the sight below him. Completely confused, he watched as Ironman fired a brutal repulsor blast at the team's angry (but usually kinda loveable) green mascot. Instead of the animal roar of an injured and pissed off Hulk, there was a very disturbing and deep laugh. The Hulk was laughing. Peter focused on the grinning face of his second favourite Avenger and felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up when he looked at the eyes and saw black. Pitch black. Like nightmares staring out of his hero's face. Momentarily frozen with fear, Peter whispered to his AI, "K-Karen?"
Sounding slightly worried, she replied, "I don't know, Peter. Physiologically, he's 100% Dr. Banner/Hulk. Perhaps a spell?"
Shaking himself out of his panic, he let out a completely normal, completely non-hysterical breath, "Yeah, no, obviously. A spell. Makes perfect sense. Whew. Kinda scary, tho. I mean, I'm fine, but I totally understand if you're, like, a little freaked out, Karen."
"No, I'm good." Karen's ever chipper voice perked out.
"Oh, good. Well, me too, then. I'm good too." He gave two thumbs up, belatedly realizing he was basically giving them to himself as he was alone. "Okay, so I wanna stay under the radar, so let's just watch for a hot minute, k?"
"Sure thing, Peter. I'm ready when you are."
Fearing the wrath of a weirdly parental Mr. Stark, Peter planned on watching for as long as possible, only stepping in if absolutely necessary. Like, if the situation was so dire, there would be no way that Mr. Stark could possibly be mad that Peter had disobeyed his orders. For 30 seconds, Peter was happy with his plan and stayed low on the rooftop, watching and waiting. Surprisingly there weren't a bunch of civilians gawking with their phones out. The street appeared empty except for the team below. Peter began to notice that the Avengers weren't really fighting. Yeah, Tony was shooting at the Hulk, but it looked more like a stall tactic, as if he and the team were waiting for someone. Back-up maybe?
At second 31, Peter's plan of waiting and watching was officially trash.
A little boy, maybe 5 or 6, was heading straight towards the Hulk. Decked out in a Spiderman hoodie and toy webslingers, the kid had his right arm extended, clearly planning on 'webbing' the Hulk with whatever foamy goo sprayed out of the toy. The lights on his little sneakers lit up non-stop as he stumbled over the broken bits of Midtown strewn all over the street.
Of course the kamikaze kid is wearing Spiderman merch. Of course. It couldn't be a pint-sized Ironman or a teeny Winter Soldier, no. It had to be a Spiderman. Normally seeing a kid wearing his stuff would make his day (his whole week, really), but he was never going to hear the end of this from the team. That is if they managed to avoid getting Hulked to death.
Due to the amount of debris and chaos, Peter's mini-me was currently out of everyone else's sightline. The kid was coming up on the Hulk's right-side and, once spotted, there was absolutely no way that anyone other than Freaky Hulk would get to the kid in time. Except for Peter, if he planned it right. Peter had maybe 20 seconds before the brave little idiot was spotted and then inevitably smashed. Peter quickly scaled his way down the side of the building and began sneaking across the street, staying behind the insane amount of damage so the Hulk wouldn't spot him. He made it a little over halfway before the kid caught the Hulk's creepy attention.
Black-eyes lit up with unholy glee as the Hulk smiled mockingly at the little would-be hero, "Why you must be the infamous Spiderman! Gotta admit, I thought you'd be taller in person."
Finally seeing the child, the Avengers raced to rescue him, but with a wave of Hulk's hand, they were all stopped in their tracks by an invisible force.
"Uh, that's new. Karen, are you sure that's the real Hulk? Last time I checked, our green dude was less magic-y and more smash-y." Peter continued making his way over trying to figure out the best angle of attack.
"I can reconfirm that his physiology is 100% Dr. Banner/Hulk. However, as there is no residual trace or signature (magical or alien), I am unable to read the energy he used."
"Great. Fantastic. So I can't kill him because he's the Hulk, and I don't want to hurt him because he's Dr. Banner, and I can't beat him because he's both of those things plus maybe-telekinesis. Ugh. I really wish I was failing a Spanish test right now."
The Hulk continued taunting the little boy as Peter made his way closer, "You're clearly ready to fight. You know what, I'll even let you take the first shot." The Hulk spread his arms out, standing about 10 feet away from the kid, whose arm was still held out ready to shoot. "Go ahead, Spiderman. Shoot me."
Even though the kid's lip started trembling and his arm started shaking, he raised his arm up higher, scrunched his eyes closed, and pushed the button on his webshooter, which in turn emitted a bunch of random laser noises and spewed out some bright blue silly string that drooped to the ground.
The Hulk laughed at the flaccid string and said, super inappropriately, "Performance anxiety?"
The kid started crying then when he opened his eyes and saw his gun hadn't done anything.
"Crying? Really? What a pussy," Hulk scoffed, rolling his eyes. (Peter found it super strange to hear him speaking clearly). Apparently this version of Hulk liked to play with his prey, "Why don't you take one more shot. If you can hit me, I won't kill you. I'll even come closer to give you a better chance." He stepped closer to the kid and shut his eyes as if scared.
Peter's opening couldn't have been more perfect. He immediately launched himself the last 20 feet, grabbed the kid, launched a web grenade at the Hulk, and booked it up the closest building, trying to stay out of sight. The Hulk let out a startled yell when the webbing hit and, opening his eyes, let out the scariest, otherworldly Hulk-roar Peter had ever heard. The little boy, who had been gaping at the real-life Spiderman, started crying again at the sound. Adrenaline pumping, Peter continued running the rooftops until he found the police on the streets below. Dropping the kid off, he then raced back.
"You are so lucky there was a kid that needed saving, otherwise, you would be grounded for life right now." Tony's voice scolded as Peter was patched in to the team's comm.
"Hey guys!" He discreetly waved from his rooftop perch.
Having been distracted, the Hulk's invisible hold on the team released and they were able to move again.
"What is this?!" Still partially covered in webbing, the Hulk struggled to remove the sticky strands, "Is this shit coming out of you?!"
Deciding the keep him distracted, Peter launched another grenade at him, prompting another scream of frustration.
"HA! Yes! Finally something works against this bastard!" Clint was doing a series of fist pumps on the ground.
"So, what's with Hulky? Karen says it's Dr. Banner, but since when did he get black-eyes and telekinesis?"
The team was oddly silent. To buy them more time, Peter launched yet another grenade at the Hulk, who in turn, let out another roar. The uncomfortable pause grew, and looking at his team from his rooftop perch, he could see they were talking to each other, but had muted his access. He rolled his eyes. It's like Mr. Stark forgot the stuff he put in Peter's suit.
"Karen, engage reconnaissance mode."
"- can't tell him!" Tony's voice was borderline frantic.
"We have to tell him. He deserves to know." Calm and collected, Steve argued, "He just did more in 5 minutes than we've been able to accomplish in 25. He needs to know, Tony, for his own safety."
"Fine! But if he has nightmares and has to start sleeping with the light on, that's on you!"
"Okay, I'm telling him," Clint stated impatiently. They needed to wrap this up.
Before Peter could even begin figuring out their conversation, Clint's voice came back on the comm, "So, awful, long story short – Heaven and Hell are real, meaning Angels and Demons are real, meaning that's a demon. Well, that's a demon possessing the Hulk/Bruce - OW!" Clint whined when Natasha reached over and punched him in the arm for such a shitty delivery.
From the ground, the entire team looked up to see how Peter was taking the news. As he stood at the edge of the building, they watched as he literally scratched his masked head in confusion, "…uh…what?"
"Just shoot another grenade and get down here," Tony's resigned voice sighed.
Turning back to the angry Hulk (the webbing was surprisingly effective in keeping in contained), Peter shot him again, earning a slew of extremely loud and imaginative cursing. As soon as he arrived at the group, he was immediately shoved into the middle, an Avenger barrier on all sides. Huffing at the protective huddle, he demanded, "What is going on?"
Clint opened his mouth to offer another terrible explanation, but his mouth was immediately covered by Bucky's metal hand, "No." Bucky smirked at Clint's affronted expression.
Tony offered a quick explanation, while keeping an eye on the Hulk, who was diligently working his way through the webbing, "Okay, this is going to be shocking, but Bruce is currently being possessed by a demon. From Hell. That's what the incident yesterday was as well: A demon. From Hell."
Peter blinked at the group. Opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again and slowly asked, "…o…k… so how do we get it out of Dr. Banner?"
"Well, we've got two guys on the way –"
"-consultants," Steve respectfully described.
"- who deal with this stuff all the time. Until then we just keep it occupied so it doesn't rampage all over the city."
Surprisingly calm (Tony was chocking it up to shock), Peter asked, "And how much longer till they get here because I'm low on webbing. I definitely don't have enough for another web grenade."
The team's already grim faces grew grimmer at that information. Right on cue, the Hulk busted out of the last of Peter's grenade. Looking at the team and then at the Hulk, who was the angriest Peter had ever seen him, Peter got an idea. He double-checked his web levels, making sure he had enough for what he wanted to do.
"Hey, do you guys remember the scene from Harry Potter with Fawkes and the basilisk?"
The noise of utter frustration from Tony was uncannily similar to his Aunt May's when Peter told her he needed a new cellphone for the third time.
"We aren't 12 year olds, SpiderBOY. Just make your point."
"I forget that a bunch of you are like 100 years old. Just watch." Peter busted out of the group's clutches, swung on top the lamppost closest to #EvilHulk, and let loose the last of his webbing in clumps right over Hulk's eyes, instructing Karen to combo it with the taser web.
The chopper ride was terrible. Never again would Dean set foot in one of the airborne deathtraps. Yeah, the ride only took 3 minutes, but they were some of the worst three minutes of Dean's life. And he spent 40 years in Hell.
Although Coulson had caught them up to speed during the ride, Sam and Dean were still taken aback by the sight before them as they arrived at the scene: Spiderman was electrocuting Hulk's eyeballs as the rest of the Avengers cheered from below. The amount of noise coming out of the green giant had Dean wanting to cover his ears.
As they approached the cheering group, Dean greeted, "Having fun?"
Startled, the Avengers turned to the new arrivals. The immediate relief showing on their faces was almost as shocking as the Hulk getting it right in the eyes.
"Thank god or, whatshisname - Chuck. You're finally here. It's got Bruce." Tony gestured towards the Hulk.
Luckily, Coulson had the forethought to grab the hunting gear they had brought to SHIELD.
"Yep, on it." Sam immediately set to work retrieving shotguns and holy water from his bag.
His words and actions were met with silence as the Avengers took in Sam's appearance. At their reaction, Dean started laughing, which he was doing a shit job of hiding behind fake-coughs.
Wearing tiny spandex shorts and shirtless, Sam dutifully ignored them and willed the blood to stop rushing to his face in embarrassment. Coulson hadn't thought to grab his clothes from the locker room and Sam hadn't even realized he was basically wearing a speedo until it was too late. He only realized it when they were already in the chopper and the pilot had given him a weird look. Dean, the absolute jerk, refused to give Sam one of the three shirts he was wearing. Coulson had offered Sam his jacket, but when he had tried it on, he couldn't get it over his shoulders. So, not the best day Sam's ever had.
"What's with naked guy?" A young voice piped up.
Before Sam could do more than huff indignantly at Spiderman's question, a few things happened in rapid succession: the demon recovered from having his eyeballs tazed, saw the Winchesters, freaked, and immediately tried to exit the Hulk. Its escape was interrupted by a huge column of rainbow coming down on top of him. When their eyes recovered from the blinding brightness, Sam and Dean were met with the sight of Thor standing on top of an unconscious Hulk. It appeared Thor had used him as the landing pad for his rainbow bridge thing and he now had the bifrost landing sigil embedded on his chest. Smiling at the group, Thor gave a wave, set his hammer down on top of the Hulk's chest, and made his way towards them.
A/N: I'm gonna try to play up the paternal facet of Tony Stark's relationship to Peter Parker. Because I loves it.
Hopefully you enjoyed that. I'd love any/all feedback J