Peter wandered the halls of the Wakandan palace, rather disappointed in how useless he had been on this mission. He'd figured that he wouldn't necessarily be an integral part of the mission, but he thought he'd at least be a part of it. Tony had single handedly upgraded the Wakandan tech to a level that was probably at least five years ahead of any top government technology, a task that Peter would have maybe been able to understand if he had watched extremely closely and had Tony explain it, but wouldn't have been able to contribute anything worthwhile to. Cap, Widow, and Hawkeye had all been out aiding the Wakandan guard, protecting the city and its citizens. There was no way the team would have allowed him to be involved in any of those physical activities. Peter touched his bandaged side; it was still slightly sore. He shrugged it off. He'd had worse. Peter cursed his luck; he'd been put out of the fight before it had even started.

His thoughts then alighted on Bruce, working tirelessly on a cure for the radiation poisoning. Peter was nowhere near the expert that Bruce was in the field - there was a reason Bruce was called Dr. Banner and he was merely Mr. Parker - but Peter had had his fair share of experience with radiation, and he knew that there was a strong possibility that he might be able to contribute something if he went and helped Bruce.

Peter changed direction and began walking purposefully toward the laboratory, glad to finally find something that he could actually help with.

He arrived at the door and was only half surprised to see that Bruce was right where he had seen him when he walked by last night, already at it again early in the morning even after working so late into the night. Peter was only half surprised because he couldn't imagine Bruce doing anything else besides helping these people who were in trouble. He admired that about Bruce. His empathy and self-sacrifice made him a hero, even if he didn't consider himself one.

Peter entered the brightly-lit room.

"Morning, Bruce!"

Bruce looked up from the vial of slightly tinted liquid that he was studying.

"Morning, Peter. How are your stitches?"

Bruce looked away briefly and jotted down notes on a slip of paper.

"They're fantastic! Never better. So, where do you need my help?"

Peter smiled at the exasperated look Bruce gave him for his somewhat sarcastic response. But he didn't make a comment on it. He shook his head and gestured toward some equipment at the other end of the room.

"Take those vials and start heating them over the open flame. Take notes on the reactions, especially the colors."

"Alright, will do." Peter walked over to the countertop and they both got to work.

….

Natasha perched in the lookout tree, carefully observing the surrounding area. Daylight had finally broken, making the job significantly less difficult; she could see farther and more clearly now than during the night. The patrol's job wasn't necessarily to be the watch dogs of the city - they had extensive camera and sensor technology that saw to that - but rather to be a first line of defense. It also didn't hurt to have a couple dozen eyes looking out for anything out of the ordinary. Technology could be fooled, after all.

As she scanned the horizon, her eyes met Clint's, who was stationed in a tree approximately 100 yards away. He waved and then signaled her something in sign language; the only language he had known that she hadn't when they first began working together. Not that that had been the case for long.

"Long night?" he signed.

She smiled. Clint joked about being tired, but she knew that he'd be able to stay up for days if the situation demanded it. Both of them could. But hopefully it wouldn't come to that.

She signed back,

"I could use some caffeine. A lot of caffeine."

He nodded his agreement and was about to say something back when something behind her caught his attention. He quickly signed,

"Movement, 60 yards, your 5 o'clock."

She turned to catch sight of the subtle movement in the bushes that had caught Clint's eye. She pinpointed the spot on her mental image of the area and vaulted down the tree where a section of the patrol was resting and waiting. They snapped to attention as she appeared out of the leaves.

"Possible intruder up ahead," she announced, and she sprinted past them, one Wakandan moving to take her vacated position and the rest stealthily following her footsteps.

Natasha moved as quickly and silently as possible, glad that after last night she was very well acquainted with the surrounding jungle. They neared the area where she had seen movement and she slowed and eventually came to a complete stop behind a tree. She heard whispered words that she couldn't quite understand. Half a dozen yards ahead of her, hidden behind a large bush, was a man. He was obviously not Wakandan, looking at the city through what looked like some very high-tech goggles held in one hand, and talking quietly into a radio he held in his other. At the end of his correspondence, he closed with a phrase Natasha thought had been dead for decades.

As the Wakandans shot forward, quickly taking down the intruder, she prayed to any higher power that was listening that she had heard him wrong.

….

Bruce looked up from his lab readings as Shuri entered the room with three cups of what smelled like some sort of herbal tea on a small tray.

"I thought the master of meditation and Spider-man could use a refreshment."

Bruce smiled at her slight jab, taking the proffered tea cup and breathing in its aroma before taking a sip. Peter also accepted the tea cup Shuri offered him, but it seemed more out of politeness than actual desire for tea. He took one sip, thanked her, and set the cup back down, returning to his work.

Shuri sat down across from Bruce, and he followed suit, recognizing that he probably needed a short break.

"Thank you for the tea -"

Shuri inclined her head.

"- and for the meditation this morning. It's the best I've slept in days."

She smiled at him.

"You're welcome, Dr. Banner. Tea and a meditative nap is the least I can offer to someone who works so tirelessly on the behalf of my people."

He smiled a gave a slight shrug, unsure of what to say. She reached forward and placed her hand on top of his. She had just been holding her hot tea cup, and for that reason, his skin warmed at her touch. Or perhaps it was because of a different reason.

He looked up at her. She opened her mouth, as though she was about to say something when two guards burst into the room.

Bruce and Shuri both looked up and Peter turned around, surprised at the sudden entrance.

Both guards bowed quickly.

"My lady, Shuri," one gasped, catching his breath as if he had just run a great distance very quickly.

"Yes?" she answered, letting go of Bruce's hand and standing to face them.

"My lady. The king has fallen into a coma, and the doctors are not able to wake him."

She stood silently, staring at the guard in disbelief. She took a shaky breath and straightened herself resolutely.

"I must go to him immediately."

She turned to Bruce and Peter. "Excuse me."

Bruce tried think of something that meant: please go ahead, don't even think about them, and he's so sorry. But he couldn't find the words.

Shuri swept out of the room, the guards following quickly behind.

The silence weighed heavily on the two remaining occupants of the room.

Bruce's gaze was locked on the door, Peter peering anxiously at him.

Peter cleared his throat.

"Bruce, should we-"

Bruce exploded out of his chair and slammed his fists on the counter.

"DAMN IT!"

Peter jumped back, swallowing nervously.

Bruce stared down at the counter in front of him, his hands still curled into fists, breathing heavily.

Why couldn't he find a damn cure? Why was it taking him so long? What was he missing? It was like there was some sort of angry buzzing stuck in his head, preventing him from actually thinking things through. These people had already lost so much, and because he was so inadequate, they would keep losing and losing until there was nothing and-

Stop.

His vision had begun turning green.

He took a deep breath and unclenched his fists, not noticing the slight indents and cracks in the counter that were left behind.

He continued taking deep, slow breaths and turned to Peter, who looked at him anxiously.

"Bruce… Are you alright?"

Bruce sighed.

"You don't need to worry, Peter. I'll be fine. Just give me a moment, and we'll get started again."

Peter nodded, not taking his eyes off Bruce, watching his movements apprehensively.

Bruce sat back down, closed his eyes, and tried to revisit the peace he had found in the meditation room with Shuri.

He would find the solution.

He just needed to let his thoughts flow.

…

He remembered sitting here as a child, entertained for hours just watching the hustle and bustle of the court. Councilmen discussing actions to be taken for the country. Couriers running in with deliveries from distant towns. Townspeople coming in for meetings and to have their concerns addressed. Wakandan guards working their shifts. The servants of the capitol going about their assigned tasks. And most importantly, his father, alive and well, there to answer all of his questions. After T'Challa's mother died, the court was perhaps less lively than before, but it was no less full of life. He couldn't remember a time when the halls hadn't been ringing with the voices of its occupants.

Except now.

T'Challa sat on the throne of his father, having been hastily declared the temporary ruler of Wakanda in the light of T'Chaka's illness.

T'Challa prayed to the spirit of the Great Panther that it was indeed temporary. His last words to his father had been words of anger. He did not want them to be what rung in his father's ears when he moved onto into the life beyond this.

T'Challa put his head into his hands, his elbows resting on his knees. He was alone in the throne room, waiting for his guard to bring in an intruder they had captured on Wakanda's borders. There was no one else there because everyone had either fallen ill or was frantically trying to hold the country together. An unknown enemy had attacked his people with an invisible weapon; it felt as if there was nothing he could do to protect them. He felt lost and confused, broken and defenseless.

He looked out into the empty court room, the silence echoing so loudly in his ears it felt as if it would crush him.

…

"Did I ever tell you about the time I accidentally arrested the police chief of New York City?" Tony grinned at the two other people in the room, working quietly.

Peter looked up in interest from the compound he was carefully measuring, while Bruce continued hurriedly writing notes down on the papers spread across the table. This was a typical response from Bruce and Tony usually interpreted it as keen interest in what he was saying.

"Okay," Tony began, "So I was in the Iron Man suit in a donut shop, don't ask me why, and I-"

"Holy shit!"

Tony stopped mid sentence and looked at Bruce.

"Something wrong?"

"No! I- I-" Bruce looked up excitedly from his paperwork and grinned at them. "I think I've actually got it."

Tony and Peter exchanged eager smiles.

Bruce nods, gesturing to his research.

"The equation that- gah!"

Bruce doubled over as if in pain.

"Bruce!"

Tony and Peter rushed over to his side. Tony crouched down next to Bruce, trying to figure out what was going on.

Bruce groaned.

"You need to leave before… before-"

"Before what?! What the hell is going on, Bruce?"

The answer came out not as words, but a groan, trapped between a whimper and a roar. Tony stood and quickly backed away from Bruce, whose back began to arch. Except it wasn't arching, but growing; Bruce's muscles expanding and thickening. His shirt began to stretch, slowly at first and then so rapidly that it burst at the seems.

"Bruce, buddy, you need to calm down."

Tony tried to take control of a situation that was far out of his hands.

Bruce stood, growing in size as his skin began turning an unnatural shade of green. Pain ripped across his face, and he was clearly trying to stop the transformation, but it was a losing battle.

Tony frantically waved Peter away.

"Stand back!"

Bruce took a step forward, stumbling-

"I… need… to…"

He fell to the ground, his hands, now larger than Tony's head, cracked the floor as he caught himself.

A roar filled the room and the creature that stood up from the ground was no longer Bruce.

"SMASH!"

The Hulk threw a wild punch, Tony barely diving out of the way in time. His fist connected with the wall, sending a spiderweb of cracks shooting out from it. A second punch brought down the entire thing.

Dust and debris exploded in all directions, Tony and Peter throwing up their arms to shield themselves.

By the time the dust had settled, it was too late to do anything,

The Hulk was free.