𝗕𝟮 | There are only bad decisions beyond us. With the vulture gone, it was time to work on bonding. However, a threat out of their hands attacks once again, causing their actions to have until the last consequence of their will.
(𝗽𝗲𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗯𝗮𝗻�...
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"Venice, Italy. Doesn't that sound great? Two weeks of traveling through Europe."
Ned dropped the pamphlets onto the cafeteria table, the colorful brochures fluttering as they landed with a slight thud. MJ and Peter were sitting across from each other, but Peter barely looked at the pamphlets, his fork absentmindedly pushing the food around his tray. His mind was miles away.
School had resumed for everyone, but for the seniors, their final year had started over, giving those who had vanished during the blip—a term that had quickly become shorthand for five years of lost time—a chance to finish what they'd left behind. It was meant to be a fresh start.
In the last few weeks, they'd barely crossed paths in the halls. Everyday after classes, Nikolas mostly met up with Bruce for his regular appointments, trying to keep the arm in check, while Bruce seemed endlessly fascinated by how it was still functional with no bones and what kept it intact.
"Aren't you and Nikolas, like, 30 years old?" Michelle joked, her eyebrows raised in playful accusation.
Peter snorted, almost choking on his food. "What?"
"Please, we're only 22," Ned added, shrugging as if it was nothing. "And we'll probably be roommates. No offense, Pete."
"None taken." He muttered.
Meanwhile, just outside Queens, near Hoboken, Nikolas lay on a cold metal platform in one of the hidden labs Bruce Banner had set up after his primary facility was destroyed in the bombing. The lab was far from pristine; cables dangled from the ceiling, equipment hummed with uneven static, and the faint smell of burnt metal hung in the air. Bruce had salvaged what he could, making do with whatever was left, though it was clear he hadn't slept much while reconstructing his makeshift workspace.
Nikolas stared at the ceiling of the MRI. The confined space of the machine pressed against his nerves, amplifying a faint claustrophobia he couldn't quite suppress. He closed his eyes briefly, trying to focus on the distant, clinical voice of Bruce Banner coming through the intercom.
"Almost done there?" Nikolas asked, shifting slightly, his voice betraying his discomfort. "I'm a little uncomfortable here."
"Yeah, just a couple more seconds." Bruce added, his voice distracted. "Stay still."
The human version of Bruce was still something Nikolas was adjusting to; after seeing him as the Hulk so often—and traveling on time with him—it felt strange to see the calmer, normal man. The graying hair at his temples and the brace stabilizing his injured arm made him look older, marked by scars—both physical and emotional—from the snap.
Bruce almost jumped as he turned off the microphone, startled by the sudden sound of the lab door swinging open. A young man stumbled in, panting lightly, his backpack slung haphazardly over one shoulder.
