The moment Hulk landed his latest haymaker, Ethan knew it was his cue to vanish.
He didn't need to watch the rest. Blonsky was halfway blind, choked with shrapnel, wrapped in every curtain in Harlem and then some, and now being pounded into the pavement like a broken drum. Ethan had done more than enough.
His reserves were gone. His hands trembled with the weight of too many impossible tricks pulled in too little time. His knees buckled with every step, and his head buzzed like a dying radio.
But even then, he ran like the police were behind him.
Not dramatically. No heroic pose or slow walk into the sunset. And certainly no impressive detonation while he walks away in slow motion, effectively cooking his behind.
He just ducked behind a pile of debris while everyone else stared at the green titans, then dropped into a half-collapsed alley and peeled off his gear with shaky hands.
He'd pre-packed his clothes, the ones he'd worn with Gwen and Nonna, stuffed inside his duffel. A Midtown hoodie, dark jeans, and the beat-up jacket that might or might not have faint traces of human blood.
He changed in under a minute, adrenaline speeding him through the process.
His suit, now charred, shredded, and stained with soot and what he hoped was not human feces, was folded into the bottom of the bag, weighed down by the stolen gear he'd still call "trophies" if anyone asked.
He layered some trash over it, telekinetically shoved it beneath a dumpster, and made a mental note of the alley's street number. He'd come back for it later, once the helicopters left.
If the helicopters didn't see through the civilian act first, you never knew with spy agencies and their very variable levels of competence.
He pressed a band-aid over the cut on his cheek, smeared some grime on his hoodie for continuity, and started limping toward the quieter streets beyond the fire trucks and wreckage.
Now came the hard part.
He had to find Gwen, and the normal world, the one where he didn't commit war crimes against grey giants with a spine that just had to hurt like hell.
Just do it, look at the abomination, look at that spine!
Ethan felt icky just thinking about it.
The block where they'd taken shelter wasn't far, but with sirens blaring and civilians being ushered away by first responders, it felt like a darn marathon.
Eventually, he spotted her sitting on the curb, biting her nails despite having dropped that bad habit months ago, her head was darting around in a way that would be almost comical if she wasn't looking at each person rushing out of the disaster-zone, hoping to find some idiot who just had to act up.
An idiot that was, as far she knew, utterly defenceless.
Their eyes met.
Her breath hitched, and then her whole posture softened, like she'd been holding it together just long enough to see him again.
Ethan managed a crooked smile, dragging himself closer, noticing the kid he found sitting not that far away next to a man; the one who almost got crushed under a car.
'Looks like he did find his dad, mostly in one piece,' He thought, his smile getting a bit wider.
"Hey," Gwen stood, slowly.
"Hey," he replied, voice rough. "So… that was probably the weirdest date I've ever been on."
She didn't laugh. She just stepped forward and hugged him. Iight, solid, and wordless, and yet a bigger guilt trip than anything his parents ever pulled to deal with his old-soul shenanigans.
Ethan stiffened for half a second before melting into it, She smelled like ash and sweat and a faint trace of shampoo. Her arms were cold. His heart was racing, and he couldn't help but be grateful.
Some people would never experience this kind of warmth.
"I thought you were…" she whispered into his shoulder.
"I'm fine," he murmured. "I slipped away before it got real bad."
"You're bleeding." Gwen leaned back and looked him over, eyes searching.
"Yeah. That just means I was alive to get hurt." He tried for a grin. It came out crooked. "Could've been worse. Could've been pants-wetting bad."
"And was it?" She huffed.
"I plead the Fifth."
They both glanced over to the boy, who was now tucked into his father's arms, babbling between hiccups. The man was still bleeding from his forehead, his clothes singed, but he clutched his son like the world could end again and he'd still hold on.
Ethan's smile grew ever wider.
Gwen caught it.
"You found him," she said quietly.
Ethan just nodded, enjoying the sight.
Not as good as looking at Gwen, even in her current state, but it sure beats having to see Blonski's giant ugly mug.
She didn't press, letting him have his moment.
"I called Nonna, she was having a fit, and got even more worried when she learned you were being stupid, but I managed to calm her down," Gwen added after a beat.
"Good," Ethan sighed. "Last thing I need is for her to guilt-trip me into a second meal."
"You think you're off the hook? She said, and I quote, 'If he dies, I'll haunt him into being my grandson anyway.'"
"She'd do it too." Ethan let out a short laugh, feeling a bit lighter.
Then the weight returned.
His eyes scanned the distant skyline. Sirens still echoed. Smoke still rose.
And eventually, he'd have to go home.
He rubbed his forehead and muttered, "How the hell am I gonna explain this to my parents…"
That was an issue he often had to face, the ramifications of not existing in a void, or with people who didn't care if he came back battered and bruised so long as he isn't too annoying about it.
No, they cared for him, and it made things that much more complicated.
"What, the new grandma or your freshly discovered moral compass?" Gwen gave him a sideways look.
"I was thinking more like 'why their kid was across town during a literal superpowered cage match,' but yeah, that too."
"You could tell them you were on a field trip."
"To hell?"
"Just say it was spontaneous." Gwen shrugged.
"I hate how that actually sounds plausible." He groaned, rubbing his eyes.
They stood in silence for a moment, watching as EMTs rushed past them, police set up more barricades, and somewhere in the distance, Hulk bellowed another war cry, and then silence.
Eventually, Ethan reached for her hand. She didn't flinch.
He squeezed it, gently.
"Let's get out of here," he said. "Before someone asks me for a statement and I accidentally incriminate myself."
"Already ahead of you."
They walked, quietly, away from the wreckage, his fingers still trembling from too much power used too fast, her steps careful but grounded.
Neither of them looked back.
"Ethan?" She asked, sounding rather disturbed.
"Yes?"
"Why are you holding a sock?"
He looked down at his other hand, and he was in fact holding a sock, military-grade apparently, but a sock nonetheless.
Raking his mind, Ethan reached the only answer his mildly concussed mind burnt-out due to power overuse could come up with.
"I dunno?"
Somehow, Gwen took it in stride.
Alternative Title: The Worst First Date Ever
Author's Note:
If you're enjoying the story and want to read ahead or support my work, you can check out my P@treon at [email protected]/LordCampione. But don't worry—all chapters will eventually be public. Just being here and reading means the world to me. Thank you for your time and support