Author's Note: So, if you've been here before, I've changed the tense, edited so that it's easier to read and and added Ending 2.0.

If you haven't, welcome, and I'll see you at the end. :)

~I got low! I didn't see an end, so I put a bullet in my mouth... and the other guy spit it out!~

Bruce Banner, The Avengers

Bruce opens his eyes to the hairy brown belly of a jungle spider. He waits to sit up until it moves off his face. Unsurprisingly, he is naked. And damp from spending an unknown length of time beneath the dew-dripping underbrush. On the upside, he is definitely still in Brazil, which means the army hasn't captured him this time; if he wants to keep it that way, he had better move on quickly.

He gets up shakily then stumbles into the nearest tree. He groans, leaning his head back against the trunk. No time to rest for the wicked, he thinks wryly. He shoves off the tree and walks forward a few paces before tripping over a rather large root.

His glasses broke when the… other guy… got out, and the forest around him is little more than a large green blur and some defining shadows.

Damn it! He is tired of it all! He is tired of losing his clothes, his cash, his glasses every few weeks. He is tired of avoiding anyone who might remind of home because they could be working for General Ross. He is tired of remembering the young woman who was too heavily pregnant to move in time or young man who never got that medicine home to his family just because Bruce had to throw a temper tantrum. He is… tired.

So as soon as he gets to the next village, the first thing he does after grabbing some clothes, is stealing a gun.

IMALITTLELINE

Far, far away, an alarm blares in a secret room.

"Master," says a cloaked figure as it swipes furiously at the screen on its workstation, "we have a red alert."

The response comes swiftly. "Who is it?"

"Bruce Banner, my Lord."

In the pause that follows, the turning gears are almost audible. "Bring him up on the screen."

"Yes, my Lord," the cloaked figure says and quickly works to do as its Master asked. "We have a visual."

The captain's chair in the middle of the room swings around easily to reveal a young man with dark messy hair in his early twenties. He lounges casually but has his bright green eyes trained intently on the screen where a barefoot man in ill-fitting clothes is contemplating an old, but clearly functional, pistol.

The man in the captain's chair brings a length of polished elder wood out of his dark green robes and taps it gently against his crossed knee.

SHORTANDSTOUT

Bruce is on the uninhabited side of a lake on the outskirts of Sao Paulo. It is midday, so his "borrowed" clothes are sticking to his skin and the metal butt of the gun is starting to burn in his palm.

Just looking at it makes him feel sick. He is already so frustrated with himself , and he is only making himself worse. What kind of man is he to take away a family's means of protection? (Not a man, he answers himself. A monster.) Abruptly, the tightness he always carries in his chest increased by the weight of a boulder.

But he'll be using it to take himself (the problem, his mind whispers) out, so surely it balances just this one wrong? (You wish, he laughs inside his own head)

But, he counters, he doesn't have to stay on this earth another day to put more red in his ledger.

HEARMESHOUT

The man and his companion watch as Bruce seems to admire the gleam on the short barrel before sticking it purposefully in his mouth, his finger poised on the trigger.

Bruce closes his eyes. He takes a deep breath, the lines on his face relax somewhat.

Harry smiles gently at the sight. "I am truly sorry, Doctor Banner," he says quietly. "But your time is not now. Death!" he calls, spinning around in his chair. "Press the green button!" He spins back around to the screen.

"Yes, Master!" says Death, rapidly moving two workstations to the right. It lifts a glass case and slams its hand down on a large green button.

TIPMEOVER

On the edge of the lake, Bruce pulls the trigger- and rips out of his skin into a physics-defying, hulking mass of green muscle.

The "Other Guy's" jaw works up and down a few times before the humanoid creature spits a single, mangled bullet into the lake.

ANDPOURMEOUT

The Master of Death watches as the being known as the Hulk, clad only in a pair of ripped pants, turned and disappeared back into the relative safety of the jungle.

"You may find the good in yourself yet, Bruce," he mutters. "Death," he says suddenly, standing and stretching the kinks in his neck, "shut it down."

The screen immediately goes dim, courtesy of Death. Harry Potter tucks the elder wand back in his robes, makes sure the invisibility cloak is in the inner pocket, and straightens the ring hanging around his neck, and, with the blink of an eye, finds himself standing by his sofa, elder wand and resurrection ring nowhere near and the invisibility cloak surely upstairs in the drawer. He bends down to where his wife is curled up on the cushions and gives her a kiss.

"Nice visit, dear?" Ginny asks, not looking up from the article she is writing.

"Always," says Harry, grinning, and goes to make tea.

Author's Note: There we are, new and improved. If you've decided to read this, either for the second or first time, I shall now inform you that the companion piece, "When Phil Coulson Died" is now up. The "second chapter" of this fic is an A/N to the same effect, so that people who have favorited this piece will be notified.

This is a special thank you to everyone who has reviewed and favorited this story. Hugs, guys!

New friend or returning reader, all are encouraged (read: begged) to leave a review. Pretty please?