Chapter Text
It had occurred to Doom that this was reckless, of course. Running in pell-mell had smacked far too much of the debacle during their raid on Fisk and Osborn's lab. Though they survived, it had been a far narrower thing than Doom would have liked. But since Ms. Hardy had generously decided to manipulate probability in the Arachnid's favor, this time, then Doom could only hope some of Peter's newfound fortunes would rub off on him.
He could only hope Peter would retain it, and thus Doom had decided it best not to alert him of Felicia Hardy's unsolicited charity. He would see it as a waste of her powers, to invest so much of herself upon him. But what could they do? The odds were still so very far against them. Even with this, they hadn't yet broken even.
Was it that desperation that made Doom so reckless? He gazed at Joe Fixit, who was gauging the distance for his leap. No, it had been overconfidence then. Arrogance.
But again, what could they do? When you had a Hulk at your side, you could not help but feel unstoppable, no matter how hopeless the odds truly were. Fixit gave him a cocky grin and a wink, as Doom sighed. He was certainly the most insidious of all the Hulks. The only one that was capable of being pleasant company, even when compared to Doctor Robert Bruce Banner himself. You could almost forget how terrifying Joe Fixit truly was. How he still carried the same fury that every Hulk bore, concealed by a suit and a bit of pomade.
Doom was being overconfident, in far too many ways. Yet he could not help himself. They had all been through too much together by now, for far too long. Victor von Doom was, in the end, a sensitive and sentimental soul.
He could not help but mirror the Hulk's diabolical grin.
Doom used his magic to launch himself towards the apartment building, vaguely reminded of the day the Arachnid had careened through a priceless stained-glass window back in Doomstadt. That had been infuriating, but the quip he made had been worse. He could not remember it, so it must have been an awful one. Was he supposed to make a quip, he wondered idly, as he crashed through the glass? No. Doubtlessly Fixit would say something asinine enough for the both of them as he burst through the closed window before gracefully alighting into a rather well-appointed little living room, where a shocked raven-haired woman dropped a teacup from her hands. He had found Miss Watson's agent, Helen June. Then where was Mr. Fixit?
The whole building seemed to shake. One's footing, in winter, was always an uncertain thing. Especially where rooftops were concerned. It seemed the Gray Hulk lacked the Arachnid's grace, as he simply careened through the wall adjacent to the window instead, looking none of the worse for wear. If June was shocked before, now she was appalled. Her lack of fear was quite telling.
"IT'S CLOBBERIN' TIME!" Fixit yelled as the dust and snowfall settled behind him. Victor couldn't help but let out a brief bark of laughter, before killing it by clenching his teeth. That had been a fairly good quip. It seemed Ben Grimm had been lingering in the back of both their minds.
"Heh," Fixit chuckled, before giving a brief cough and dusting himself off. "That our gal?" he said, and the woman only narrowed her eyes as the Gray Hulk pointed a gigantic finger at her.
"She is indeed," Doom said archly, as his eyes narrowed and he looked upon her with his Third Eye. What manner of creature could look upon Victor von Doom, with a Hulk in tow, and not tremble?
The woman's eyes were gold. Her hair was a fiery red, not a midnight black. A diadem was upon her brow. Peacock tailfeathers were scattered at her feet. He knew who this was now. How stupid. How absurd.
Peter always had the strangest sort of luck, especially where Mary Jane was concerned.
Fixit advanced upon the goddess, cracking his neck alongside his knuckles, his smile long gone. Doom stretched out his arm, extending his ragged green cloak in front of the Gray Hulk.
"Hold," Doom commanded. Joe rolled his eyes. "Hold, please," he now pleaded, and Fixit was fortunate that only a Hulk had the strength to compel that from him. Doom making a genuine request rather than a veiled command had certainly gotten the giant to take pause.
"We need not be hasty," he said, with a knowing look at the goddess Hera. Determined to show her just as much condescension and disdain as she now dared to express towards the two of them. She had the audacity to sneer. Had she thought he was warning Fixit back? Foolish. He had been warning her.
"So," the goddess said with a vindictive smirk, finally taking a sip from her cup, as snow continued to fall amidst the broken glass and plaster behind them. "You are Parker's pet supervillains."
"Uhm." Joe frowned and crinkled his brow, scratching his hair beneath his hat idly. As far gone as he had sometimes been, he never considered himself any sort of supervillain.
Neither did Doom. "Introduce yourself before you presume a title upon me. Miscreant goddess."
Her nostrils flared. "You presume to know, and yet you proceed in hubris."
"Er, goddess?" Joe cocked his head with a mumble, clearly having lost the plot.
"You are the one who oversteps, Argive Hera," Doom said warningly. He had killed supposed gods before. He had even dissected them upon his anatomy tables.
"Victor von Doom. History has fared better without you in it," the goddess decided with a pompous sniff.
"Are you guys flirting?" Joe asked idly.
"No!" Victor and Hera said simultaneously. Where he'd gotten the notion, Doom had no idea. Were things truly that awful between Bruce and Betty Banner?
He should have known that Doom would never lower himself by courting such a vindictive, spiteful mass of narcissistic complexes.
"Yeah, sorry, bad joke," Joe said, though his tone was utterly unapologetic. "Bruce considered Greek Myth a waste of time, but yeah, even I know who you are now. Hercules's evil stepmom."
"Heracles," Hera spat, insistent. The Gray Hulk seemed as unimpressed as Doom.
"Yeah, screw trying to unpack any of that drama. Literally ancient history. Why the hell are ya messing with Mary Jane Watson's brain?" he growled to the goddess. "Is it because ya know what she means to Pete?" Doom supposed Fixit was partially right. But it didn't cut to the heart of the matter sufficiently.
"The bracers, Mr. Fixit. The Arachnid has Hercules's divine artifacts." Victor very pointedly used the preferred cognomen of the God of Strength and Heroes, if only to deny Hera even the most trivial concession.
"You gotta be shitting me," the Gray Hulk said with a heavy and pronounced scowl.
"Oh yes. All this, for a petty, thousands year old grudge," he said contemptuously. Such childishness was wholly beyond Doom.
"You got pissed off at YOUR Herc in THIS timeline, and so, because OUR Herc, from OUR timeline gave him those little armbands that don't even frigging work, you try to screw with us? When we're not even from here?" Incredulity warred with disdain in Joe Fixit's eyes.
"Parker is the one who chose to meddle with Mary Jane, and I will not allow my charge to squander away her promise for the sake of a transtemporal philanderer!" the goddess shrieked, becoming defensive. Doom scoffed at her brittle ego.
"Philanderer?" Joe muttered.
"A womanizer, Mr. Fixit," he helpfully supplied.
"I know what— never mind. You only got involved with MJ because a version of her was involved with Peter… and because Peter was involved with a version of your Hercules!" he accused the goddess.
"I… my reasons for involving myself with my charge had nothing to do with Parker! I found her first, before he did!" Hera squawked. "He broke into her apartment because he couldn't leave her well enough alone!"
"Broke into her—" Joe muttered, refusing to believe a word of this as he shook his head. "Bullshit! You're just making that up!"
Doom coughed. "In fairness, I do recall the incident. It was after we fled Fisk's laboratory. He was delirious and… likely moving on muscle."
"You were spying on him again?" Joe groaned.
"He was quite wounded. So yes, after I was assured of my own safety, he was the first one I checked on!" he said defensively.
"…Fine, okay. I'll just use me feeling annoyed with your usual antics on her crap instead," Joe shrugged, before scowling to Hera. "The guy wasn't even trying to do anything wrong! He'd been freaking shot! He was just trying to get his ass home!"
"Excuses!" Hera huffed. "Do you think I couldn't see what he was trying to do? Do you think I don't know how those kinds of tricks are played, firsthand? He comes in from the cold, letting her see how badly he's hurting. How hopeless he is. Tricking her into thinking that pity is the same as love." She grew sullen then, her voice venomous. "He would never be able to stay that way though, oh no."
As Doom recalled, there were a few myths where Zeus had taken the form of a forlorn little bird injured in a storm, to worm his way into Hera's good graces. He honestly could not bring himself to care in the slightest. He had quite enough of this. She had played such petty, trans-temporal games before, in their old timeline. The woman was fond of preemptive vengeance for purely theoretical future wrongs and was prone to taking revenge for slights that had only ever occurred in entirely different versions of reality. It was always utterly deranged and senseless, but worse than that, it was now also interfering with Doom's own designs. While her ways had at times made her Doom's unwitting pawn back then, he had no need for it now.
Doom proclaimed his conclusions. "Your reasons solely revolve around Zeus. Not the Arachnid. Not even Hercules. It was always about you and your toxic relationship with Zeus. Hercules had ambitions of celebrity, and you sought to foil it. All the while you compulsively warned away any starry-eyed young women from him, such as Watson, who might grow enamored with a literal Greek God. As if Hercules would play the same games your fool husband had. You projected Zeus's failings onto his son, for thousands of years. Then, as the supposed Heir of Hercules, you projected the same notions on to Parker the very moment he reappeared in Watson's life!" Victor could hardly understand the sheer mental dissonance required for that level of spiteful projection. It was vindictive derangement on par with Reed Richards.
The goddess was angry enough to let her mask slip, and soon even Fixit was able to see what Doom saw. The woman's black hair turned red. Her amber eyes turned gold. And her apartment became a vast palace, adorned with fluted columns, and an elaborate fountain… and still, a Hulk sized hole through one of the walls with snow falling through, though it was no longer New York City on the outside.
They were no longer on the mortal plane. They were somewhere atop the slopes of Olympus now. This was for the best, Doom decided. Now, no amount of havoc the two men wreaked would render the goddess's unfortunate neighbors homeless.
"Mortals. You have intruded upon my home, interfered with my charge, and insulted me with your blasphemies. Depart in humiliation, or else be torn apart by the Furies and be cast down to Tartarus," the goddess vowed, her voice echoing with rage and power as the gentle snowfall falling in through the holes they made became a fierce gale, chilling both men to the bone.
Neither of them reacted. A Hulk could barely feel cold or pain. Doom had endured worse and had done worse to others besides.
"Her bark is worse than her bite," Doom whispered to Joe knowingly. "Gods must be more circumspect than they were in antiquity, and she cannot interfere in mortal lives so crassly. Manipulating mortals is one thing. Ending their lives through such manipulations is quite another, and there is no extant pantheon that wishes to recreate the Trojan War in modern form. There are some very clear treaties in place between them, that delineates the extent to which they may interfere. There shall be no Furies or Tartarus for either of us, so long as we refrain from attacking her."
Gods were but man's personification of nature, after all. A reflection of humankind's submission to forces that were simply beyond them. There was nothing beyond Doom, even in this state. Certainly not a supposed goddess.
"Good for her. It lets me have the first shot," Fixit said with an eager smile. If it were anyone else saying it, it would be the height of arrogance. But the Hulk had laid low a great many powerful and presumptuous gods over his long career.
To have him move on the attack immediately was premature, however.
"Do not be foolish, or reckless, Mr. Fixit. This is the goddess Hera, after all," Doom enunciated clearly, hoping the Gray Hulk would see what he was getting at.
"Yeah, and?" he responded, peering down at Doom suspiciously. Clearly, they needed to work on their communication issues, just as the Arachnid had advised.
"So you know nothing about her. And she knows nothing about you or I. It would be wiser to not provoke her too suddenly. Who knows what demands she will make of us, in exchange for our lives? Best that we negotiate civilly, before it turns to any sort of violence," Doom hinted, keeping the smile out of his voice.
Fixit looked down at him with a stern and solemn expression. But the edges of his lips were starting to curl into a smile. The giant gave him a brief nod, before rounding on Hera. "You really don't know a thing about either of us?" he asked, pretending to sound upset about the notion.
"What's there to know?" the goddess said disdainfully. "The Fates told me of a thuggish mobster and a petty sorcerer in Parker's retinue. Wicked men, and ill company for a supposed 'superhero.' He reveals his true colors by associating himself with you louts."
"Heh," Joe Fixit chuckled, the expression sounding more like a sickly cough. "A thuggish mobster and a petty sorcerer. That's what you were able to dig up on us? You just, hah, took a good look at Spider-Man, and then skimmed over his two sidekicks?"
"I warn you, 'Joe Fixit.' Or 'Bruce Banner' or whatever you go by. I am more powerful than Parker himself, by entire magnitudes. The cur's lackies have no chance," she said primly.
Did she simply assume that they only deferred to the Arachnid because he was stronger? Might makes right was a tedious notion that far too many pantheons always settled upon. Such Darwinian notions had no place in determining a man's loyalties and affiliations. The Arachnid was never the deadliest of the three, or the most dangerous. Merely the most patient, and merciful. And he was not here now. And he would still be more vicious than the two of them combined, if he were to learn that this goddess had presumed to tamper with his dear Mary Jane's mind.
Any deliberate cruelty on their part was now merely the goddess's bad karma. The result of her hubris in presuming to interfere with matters beyond her ken. A grand and delicious irony, laid out before Doom like the finest of wines.
"Merciful Hera," Doom implored, his voice deliberately affecting a mournful and apologetic tone, as if he had only now realized just how powerful the entity he defied was. "Doom must beg for forgiveness. Pray, permit him to depart with this oaf in peace and silence, never again to darken your door."
"I think not!" Hera declared in wicked triumph. "No, I think there is a price that must be paid. You and your oaf should know better than to steal into the homes of your betters."
"We but sought to plead a friend's case. Surely, your heart is not without pity for such forlorn vagabonds?" he pleaded, his head hanging low.
"You're having way too much fun with this Shakespeare crap," Joe mumbled softly, as Doom nudged him with his shoulder in irritation. There would be fun enough for them both quite soon, which Hera could not help but provide.
"I have not the least pity," Hera said dryly. That was truly wonderful. Doom's own utter lack of pity was vindicated once again.
"We offer no harm, Argive Hera. Surely, by the laws of Olympus and its treaties with its peers and rivals, you cannot offer us harm in turn?" He laid out his trap, carefully and neatly, waiting for the goddess to blunder in.
She obliged him. Generous creature. "It is within my rights to demand satisfaction when offended," Hera spat. "And battle."
"Ah," Doom said in satisfaction. "Then we are within our rights to demand things in turn."
"Demand? Rights? You have the right to nothing!" the goddess howled. Outside the window, a freak blizzard howled alongside her.
"Oh dear, Mr. Fixit. It seems we're in quite a fix of our own, now," Doom heaved an overdramatic sigh.
"Want to have Joe fix it?" the giant said woodenly.
"Is that where your alias comes from?" Doom asked, suddenly fascinated.
"Just hurry it up with whatever stupid game you're playing with her, will ya?" he snapped back. "We still got some minigolf this afternoon, and the green one is more interested in that."
"Very well. When faced with nature's wrath, and a goddess's wrath besides, what can one do but simply pray?" he laughed. He would make this entreaty in Icelandic, he decided. It wasn't quite Old Norse, of course, but it was as close as one could get in modern times. Even plain English would do for this one, but basic manners were something even the poorest could offer to others, Doom's father would often say.
"<I need your help, Thor Odinson,>" he simply whispered in Icelandic.
There was a white flash, followed by a crack of thunder. It was the only fanfare required, from one of the only gods Doom had ever deigned to sometimes heed. Thor, God of Thunder, crossed his arms and scowled at Doom, Fixit, and Hera. Looking displeased to be here but heeding the call regardless.
He would always strive to come when called, no matter where they were. No matter when they were. No matter, it seemed, even who they were.
"I am here," the blonde, clean-shaven, square jawed Aesir simply said as he clenched his teeth. "I know ye both, Victor von Doom. Bruce Banner. I know why ye are here, and what this is. The Norns had already said as much." He resented being here, but duty compelled him regardless. He always endeavored to answer the prayers of mortals. Doom smiled beneath his mask. If more gods were like him, Doom would not have had cause to kill quite so many.
"Oh man…" Joe Fixit had recognized Thor, his beady eyes bulging in awe. Hera was similarly cowed into sudden silence. The results pleased Victor. Diminished as he was, he was not without his tricks. He was not without his cunning.
"Such a feat is quite simple for one such as Doom," he crowed. "It relies far more on Thor's psychology than my innate prowess. Doom compels nothing. But he always strives to answer." Surprisingly, Fixit gave him a smug expression.
"You're actually capable of prayer?" the Gray Hulk said with an expression of deliberately exaggerated awe, as his lips curled into a warm smile that had no place on a face like his. Thor threw his head back and roared with laughter.
Doom had miscalculated. He had erred, greivously. He had stumbled, naively, into Joe Fixit's trap. This was somehow worse than the time the Arachnid's quip had made the entirety of the United Nations laugh at Doom's expense.
At least he now finally remembered why he'd kidnapped the Arachnid's wife back then, a lifetime ago now. He had to stay calm. He was grateful that his ruined face could no longer flush with anger or embarrassment, even from behind his mask. Composure. If he was able to forgive, or at least forget, the Arachnid's quip, he could afford a similar level of magnanimity for the Hulk. Like Parker, Banner and his Hulks could not restrain themselves from ruffling Doom's feathers on occasion. The fact that Mr. Fixit was the most potent weapon in Peter and Victor's respective arsenals would afford him such latitude. For now.
He cleared his throat and gave a stern look at Thor instead. His laughter, at least, had no reason to be forgiven. And it would be repaid in time. Proportionately, Victor reminded himself again. It was all right to humiliate the thunder god in retribution, but nothing more permanent than that. The universe, and its inhabitants, should be grateful for Doom's patience and mercy. As it should be grateful for the Hulk's patience. As it should be grateful for the Arachnid's mercy.
This, more than anything, was what had made the three men brothers. They all had enough power to do worse. They retained wisdom enough to remain aloof.
"Our rights are being infringed upon, oh God of Thunder," Doom reminded him stiffly. "I do believe the Olympians, the Aesir, and all the other various petty pantheons have already decided amongst themselves to stop playing the sorts of games that the Queen of Olympus is indulging in now."
That had murdered the thunder god's smile, to Doom's satisfaction, as he stared balefully up at Hera upon her raised dais.
"He is not wrong. This is petty," Thor said, his voice heavy with resignation. He already knew he could not sway Hera away from her foolishness, but felt obliged to make the attempt. But that wasn't why he was here. Doom had something else in mind.
"It is petty. It is wrong. And it is stupid. All three of these men are far, far more dangerous than ye had first assumed. Ye invite horror by trifling carelessly," the god said sternly to the goddess. Hera scoffed, slamming her fist into her throne. Baring her teeth.
Thor himself was humble enough to accept such criticism and such counsel. But not Argive Hera.
"You intercede on behalf of two of the most lowly and vile miscreants that plagued any timeline unfortunate enough to host them! I merely seek to remove meddlers, not meddle with them!" The stench of entitlement suffused every one of Hera's words. What remained of Doom's nose crinkled in distaste.
"Aye, I've heard what the Norns had to tell of their pasts, and surely ye heard much the same from the Fates. But I will draw mine own conclusions. I much mislike destiny, 'tis often unreliable and fickle besides. I've only an inkling of where they've been, and I've no claim to know where they're headed. I've no real idea who these men are, in the end! But neither do ye, because ye bothered to learn even less of them than I have!" Thor warned.
"Who are you to lecture me, son of Odin? A foreign, wastrel churl! Do not think that your affiliation with Heracles gives you leave to meddle in my affairs! The only fool grander than you is Doom, for thinking that our shared divinity would give you any sway over me," the goddess spat.
"Doom did not call Thor Odinson to intercede with the likes of you, goddess," the Sorcerer, Scientist, and Sovereign Supreme explained. "I know full well that you are deaf to wisdom. Thor is here because he cannot help but be here. Like Hercules, he cannot help but intercede when a peer oversteps in matters of mankind. He is simply here to bargain on our behalf with… yet another god, who would likely be far less receptive to my personal entreaties."
Now Doom commanded the room. Now no one dared joke in the face of Doom's audacity.
"Ye called me… to have me call upon yet another god?" Thor said in tightly restrained outrage.
"Doom believes you already know who he might have in mind," he replied, with practiced arrogance.
The goddess grew pale, and shrieked. "I swear to you both, Doom, Fixit, if you have the temerity to call Zeus into this affair, I shall have you BOTH ruined and—"
Doom only shook his head. "No. That is certainly not who I have in mind."
"Hades, Lord of the Underworld," Thor muttered sourly, with the heaviest scowl he could muster, as a red portal took shape. The stench of molten brimstone filled the room, and Doom nodded his head, pleased. A sharp and severe figure, ashen, moon-pale, and eyeless, emerged from the Underworld.
This was ultimately a matter of romance, after all. An affair of the heart. Hades was one of the few Olympians with a remotely functional marriage. For all his baleful reputation, Doom always considered Hades to be a bit of an affable bungler. He was always too easily coerced into being an accomplice in Hera's schemes, if only out of a misguided effort to keep her out of further trouble. Always trying to be the voice of reason against her follies, which was surely why Thor knew to call him.
Except Hera never failed to disregard wise counsel from those foolish enough to care for her. Any attempt on his part to sway her to reason would only have her spitefully veering off into cruel misanthropy. He was always the one that was the most patient towards her, and that only earned him her contempt. Hades would do his best, only to once again inadvertently bring forth Hera's worst.
Doom counted on it.
Hades certainly wouldn't have come if Doom had been the one to call for him. But he would if Thor did. And Thor Odinson would willingly call upon Hades, if it were for another's sake, even if acting as a glorified messenger boy or go-between was beneath his dignity.
The scales had balanced again. Doom had already repaid Thor for his mockery.
"Hera, my sister and my sister-in-law," the black-bearded figure of Hades began softly. He was dressed in a simple black business suit and wore a pair of elegant sunglasses that completely failed to conceal his empty eye sockets from behind them. "Abandon this foolishness. Please. They have done nothing to truly injure you, and they are all far more trouble than they are worth. Concern yourself no further with Peter Parker, Bruce Banner, or Victor von Doom."
Doom, Thor, and Joe all gave the Lord of the Underworld concerned looks, while Hera heaved a long-suffering sigh. It seemed Hades was already just as apprised of the situation as Thor was. He already knew what was going on, and he certainly had a better idea of who the two of them were than Hera did.
Victor wondered, how much did the pantheons already know of the three of them? They had seemingly caused such a significant shakeup, through virtue of their continued existence, that the very big players were now keeping tabs. They'd already been marked out by the Fates, and the Norns, and apparently the knowledge these entities held regarding them transcended timelines. How much more would these so-called divinities meddle? It was good that what Doom had planned for his retribution against Hera would also warn away any further such ill-conceived and self-indulgent attempts at interference.
It was good that all these attempts at dissuading Hera would only wound her pride further.
"If I may?" Doom interjected, only for the Lord of the Dead to give him a brief frown before studiously ignoring him in favor of Hera. This was also good. Honor had been satisfied far too quickly and easily with Thor. Fortunately, now Hades had arrived, and there was a new face with which Dr. Doom could safely and constructively sublimate his righteous fury.
Victor confidently gave Fixit a thumbs up, letting him know that everything was proceeding according to Doom's design. The Gray Hulk's increasingly uneasy frown told him that he had misunderstood what was obviously meant to be reassuring. The Hulk clearly needed more assistance when it came to such nonverbal cues.
He never seemed to have trouble understanding when the Arachnid made such gestures. Odd. Perhaps if Doom were to wink, for emphasis? But no. That was beneath a monarch's dignity. He would content himself with watching three gods bicker like children before the two of them. Soon, a spiraling and aggrieved Hera would escalate things far beyond any hope of repair. She was on the defensive and being berated by the closest things the haughty goddess could consider to be her peers. Hera was doomed to double down on her own follies in response. It was her nature, and the gods struggled even more than mortals at breaking from their archetypes.
"Enough! I will not be talked down to like some errant child and have you browbeat me, Hades! These mortals are the interlopers, not I, and I am within my rights to see them dealt with. ARES!" the goddess cried out imperiously. Doom's smile was hidden beneath his mask. Wonderful, he thought. The foolish queen had made what was tantamount to a declaration of war against both Doom and Fixit, as Ares emerged from his mother's shadow.
The God of War, Courage, Brutality and Bloodlust preferred a less modern style than his uncle Hades. He wore a gaudy Corinthian helmet on top of his head, which was of course plumed and styled as if it were a delinquent's mohawk. His blackened armor looked bronze, but in truth it was Uru, with the divine metal's inconsistent appearance the result of it taking on the characteristics of its wielder. Which was of course, battered and bloodstained. Ares's wild black hair, and the heavy frown on his clean-shaven face completed the image of a brutal and angry god.
Doom was smiling, and now so was Fixit. This was an enemy that lost to the likes of Thor on a consistent basis. Which meant that, god or not, he was unfit to be a smear upon a Hulk's bootheel. Neither of the two men seemed to be put off in the slightest by his unceremonious appearance.
Ares, by contrast, looked far unhappier to see the two of them. He gave a sigh as he took in the scene, disregarding the two mortals to note Thor's grim scowl and Hades's look of contemptuous disdain. He sighed again and gave a sullen look at Hera. "What, mother?"
"Don't be disrespectful, boy. Your mother needs a champion," the goddess said sternly. Ares simply sighed for the third time.
"Once again, it seems you are only my mother when I am your champion," the God of War mumbled. It was odd, Doom thought. Ares had always tended towards real and very genuine aggression, rather than this sort of passive aggressive backbiting.
"Away, nephew. My halls are crowded enough by your misadventures," Hades said, somehow able to mimic the gesture of rolling his eyes, despite lacking them completely.
"I can see the cur off," Thor glowered, and Ares grinned in response. Now the Greek god looked alive. No amount of defeat at the thunder god's hands could dampen the war god's bellicose nature.
"You are not to fight him, boy! I want you to crush those two," Hera barked, and Ares's eager smile abruptly died. He visibly seemed to sag, as if burdened by a heavy weight, and shrugging off a migraine besides. "Forget your feuds with the Asgardian! He's still bound to not give violence where it isn't offered, and your uncle is much the same… unless he wants to get an earful from your father," she said archly, perfectly happy to leverage her toxic relationship with Zeus if it allowed her to trample over others.
Ares looked at Doom and Fixit, the former standing silent and impassive with his arms crossed, while the latter gave a half-hearted wave, looking even more unimpressed than Doom was. Ares frowned again. "You can't be serious. They're not even gods. I'm not your personal leg breaker."
"You are my son. You are honor-bound to defend me in battle. And today, Hera declares war upon these two impertinent men!" she said, pointing two long-nailed fingers at the pair. "I demand two duels to the death, via my champion. Start with the big one, boy. I want to watch the one in the mask squirm."
"War, is it?" Doom simply asked, trying not to laugh. It was truly sublime. Hera had done him a great service. It had been far too long since a foe was brave enough or stupid enough to declare war upon Victor von Doom.
"Well, I guess she got the right kid for that," Joe chuckled, his sparkling white teeth glowing in a combination of mirth and malice.
Hades sputtered. He was clearly more aware of what Dr. Doom and the Hulk were than his sister was, and it seemed that his imperious disdain towards Doom from earlier was nothing but an act. The Lord of the Dead was uneasy now. "Sister. I implore you to reconsider," Hades said tightly.
"Do ye even have the slightest idea of what ye've just done?" added a far more annoyed Thor. The poor fellow had clearly intervened to make sure things didn't escalate to this point. But then, Thor was never a peacemaker either, though Doom remembered that the god of thunder had certainly made some brave attempts in the past.
Doom had to intervene before the more rational and well-informed gods could persuade the Queen of Olympus to relent. "You can't be serious!" said Doom, suddenly affecting an appalled demeanor. "That is the God of War, and Mr. Fixit is but an up-jumped thug. Spare us, do not condemn him to slaughter!"
Thor and Hades briefly exchanged confused looks, and whether it was via the Norns or the Fates the two of them clearly had a better idea of what the up-jumped thug was truly capable of. No matter. These weren't the ones Doom needed to hoodwink.
"Forswear Parker, then kneel before me and offer your undying devotion. Depart and then fetch me your master's head. Only then will I consider your wrongs against me repaid," Hera replied icily.
"Nah," Joe sneered, clearly relishing this moment just as much as Doom was. Good.
"Do not be absurd, Fixit," Victor said, doing his best to sound frightened rather than amused. "These people are gods. You are but a mere racketeer."
"I dunno. I took some boxing lessons, way back. Plus, I'm way bigger," he grinned, doing his best to loom over Ares, egging him on.
"Sister. Nephew. That is not an ordinary mortal," Hades said though clenched teeth. "It is the Hulk, and it is a supremely dangerous—" But Ares had his own issues to raise. And the poisonous interfamilial dynamics of the Olympians meant that any attempt to warn Ares away from folly would be taken as further insult. The war god would only presume that Hades didn't think his halfwit nephew could defeat even a lowly mortal, however aberrational.
But Mr. Fixit wasn't mortal in the slightest, for one thing. Ares ignored the uncle who disdained him, focusing his ire on the mother that also disdained him… but could at least find him useful, from time to time.
"Is this what I am? Your thug, to fight their thug?" an exasperated Ares demanded of his mother.
"If you aspired for more than that, then you should have applied yourself centuries ago!" Hera snapped back.
Doom was surprised to feel vague stirrings of sympathy for the slaughterer. Likely he was reading far too much of his own absurd drama with his mother Cynthia, but it wasn't enough to dissuade him. He felt that both the goddess Hera and Cynthia von Doom needed to be taught at least a degree of humility. If that lesson came at the expense of a god that glorified war crimes, then so be it.
"I'm telling both of ye, just—" Thor broke in, trying to talk sense to the goddess and her son, even if they were his long-time enemies.
Mr. Fixit was, however, was quite keen on the idea of fighting Ares now, so he spoke in a gravelly voice loud enough to drown out even the voice of an Aesir. "I don't blame ya for being scared. Look at me. I'm frigging huge. I blame ya for being a real disappointment for your dear old ma," he said, with a slick grin towards Hera. Doom nodded in satisfaction as Ares's face reddened. He was not merely flush with anger. A few blood vessels had burst from behind the war god's eyeballs through the sheer force of his fury, turning his white sclera a dark and bloody red.
Doom would, on reflection, be just as angry if Fixit had brought up Cynthia von Doom. It was good that the Gray Hulk had enough wisdom, or at least boundaries, to not tempt Victor's wrath in a similar manner.
Ares's wrath, by contrast, was quite welcome. "Let's get this over with. Mongrel, mutant, mortal," the God of War spat.
"Fuck off, Kratos," the Gray Hulk fired back with even more contempt.
All the gods, and Doom besides, stared at Joe Fixit in momentary confusion. The Gray Hulk gave an awkward cough.
"I am Ares, worm!" the god fumed.
"Seriously? None of you people understand where I was going with that?" Fixit muttered irritably. "Not even you?" the giant demanded of Doom.
"Kratos is the child of Pallas and Styx, Mr. Fixit. This is Ares," Doom supplied slowly. He knew Bruce Banner was far more a scientifically inclined intellectual than a literary one, but surely the man, and Fixit by association, would have some awareness of Greek Antiquity.
"You just… you never heard of God of War? O-on the PlayStation? No? You're just gonna leave me looking like an asshole here?" the giant chuckled, half in irritation and half in genuine amusement.
Doom tried to puzzle out what Fixit was getting at. A videogame of some sort? Was that what he was referring to? Rubbish. He'd preemptively banned the lot of them wholesale from Latveria years ago, just so Valeria Richards wouldn't take up any bad habits while he was tutoring her.
Seeing the quizzical tilt of Doom's head, Joe simply sighed. "I bet Hercules would've gotten the reference. He'd have found it a little funny."
"Heracles," Hera insisted again, and Thor, Hades, Fixit, Doom, and even Ares himself gave her various annoyed looks instead.
"Yeah, yeah. Are we doing this or not?" the Hulk spat.
"Yes," Hera immediately answered for Ares, which only made her son frown at her for deciding for him.
"Enough," Hera muttered in response to her son. "Enough whining and childishness. You know what you must do. It's how it's always been. Come back with your shield. Or upon it," she demanded. Ares scowled at her, before giving a growl and a nod of his head towards the Hulk. The mutual expressions of horror worn on the faces of Thor and Hades were quite satisfying for Hera, as she smiled at them in arrogant triumph.
Such obliviousness deserved punishment as well, Doom decided, as he gave a low laugh that Fixit echoed. Hera gazed down at the two men in displeasure, only for them to laugh harder.
Victor sidled up to the Hulk, murmuring softly as the giant craned his ear towards him. "This should be simple for you, yes?" Doom sought to confirm.
"Yeah. I mean, unless you're angling on me taking a dive on this one. Which, for Ares? There's no way in hell," Fixit smirked.
"Perish the thought," he responded affably. "No, just don't end things too quickly. Draw things out. I wish to put pressure on Hera, and I'll let you know when it's time to put an end to things."
"…The Kid wants to have a go at Ares too," Joe muttered tightly, his eyes flashing green briefly. Victor shook his head, rejecting the idea wholesale.
"The Arachnid was quite clear that the Savage Hulk needed to be weaned away from violence. Doom shall defer to his expertise in matters of child-rearing. …Can you keep him suppressed?"
"No. Not unless he wants to be," the Gray Hulk said with an annoyed shrug.
Cooler heads needed to prevail. The objective was to terrorize Hera into compliance with all of this, not actually murder Ares. How was he to act with a restive child? He'd done this before. His goddaughter had ended up quite impeccable under his tutelage, all things considered. How did he cajole Valeria when she was small?
He sighed and nodded his head. "Tell the Child that he'll have the rest of the afternoon in control of your body after this, until the gnome matter. And that we can even play a round of golf beforehand too, if he is good, and if it suits him." He had no idea if that would work. He was just throwing things up against the wall and seeing what stuck.
It couldn't possibly work. The Savage Hulk wasn't an actual child, and surely bribing them with something so trivial would only—
"…Huh. Okay, he says that works for him, and he'll keep out of it. But he's gonna go smashing if you don't hold up your end," Joe said, sounding just as incredulous as Doom felt.
"He'll stay out of the fight and leave it to you?" asked a surprised Doom.
"Y-yeah. Though uh, we better make sure he gets his hands on a putter after this," Fixit added. Doom clenched his fist in triumph. Somehow, he had succeeded again. He could not help but succeed, of course.
"The Child shall have the run of the course! Until then, do what thou wilt, Mr. Fixit, as long as you stop short of killing him." Doom simply declared, as he raised a hand and conjured up a simple stone throne behind him and lounged comfortably upon it. Deliberately mimicking Hera's current posture, albeit from far below her raised dais.
"Heh," the Hulk grinned, as he tossed his hat away with a flourish, landing at Doom's feet. As if he were a toreador giving a patron a salute before entering a bullring. The Hulk and the God of War squared up against each other in silence between the thrones of Hera and Doom, awaiting a signal.
Indignation crossed the goddess's face at how casually Victor and Joe were behaving, though within her son's gaze there was only a determined focus. It seemed that Ares knew that this would not be nearly as easy as his mother claimed it would be. Even if the poor brute still hadn't the slightest notion of the suffering his own mother had just inflicted upon him. There were those faint traces of pity again, though.
He couldn't allow the likes of the Arachnid or Fixit to soften him, as he had once permitted Valeria Richards. This was the execution of a long overdue justice. Gods too, needed punishment for callous arrogance. A good judge had to be impartial when executing the sentence.
Both Hades and Thor knew they could not reason with either Hera or Ares, and so they flanked Doom upon his seat, radiating stern disapproval. Doom's smile deepened. The Lord of the Underworld spoke first.
"I have no quarrel with you, sorcerer. You three had been given ill hands, I admit. But that is still my sister. That is still my nephew. Harm my family, and you will make for yourself many enemies where you could have had none," Hades warned.
Doom ignored the Lord of the Dead, in repayment for his own earlier refusal to engage with him. He simply reclined in his chair, idly humming a few bars of an operetta that came to mind. One of Gilbert and Sullivan's. Doom was not an uncultured warlord, as the Arachnid and Fixit often assumed. He simply preferred more edifying material than what passed for modern pop culture.
"He is an enemy, but if he dies… I won't protect ye from the backlash that ensues. Because I cannot," Thor warned in turn.
Doom did not ignore the Aesir, like he had the Olympian. For Thor had come when Doom had asked. "Doom does nothing that Hera would not have happily done to the two of us. Or Peter. It is time for a goddess to learn that even gods can overreach and be punished. It is nothing she has not done to countless others, for hubris both real and imagined."
"It won't set her grievances aside," Thor declared with a shake of his head.
"I have no desire to reason with the unreasonable. I shall extract her compliance, in exchange for her son's life." Doom gave a stern look to Hades, at his left, "This is a 'fair' duel, and your sister and your nephew have agreed to it. Do note that a member of a completely different pantheon is in attendance, by the by. Thor knows just as well as Doom does, that we are forced to oblige the whims of a tyrannical queen. Honest Thor can recount to all who wish to hear of it that our hands were forced. We had no choice. She was the one who demanded this, when I had begged her not to."
"I… damn you," Hades said in seething hatred, though his expression was defeated. He had no authority to damn Doom in any way. Not in this day and age. It was time to remind the supposed gods that they were but the idle musings and metaphors of ancient poets. Trivial mortal fancies that existed only to embody and define a callous and alienating universe. It was too long since Doom could visit proper punishment and horror upon the deserving, even if it was through a Hulk's assistance. He stopped humming along to the operetta playing in his head, to idly repeat a few of his favorite lines in mocking cadences.
There was a somber and serious silence from the two gods at his flanks as Doom briefly sang the lines, as well as an uneasy look from the goddess that dared to stand above both him and Fixit. The Gray Hulk and the God of the War would soon clash.
"My object all sublime,
I shall achieve in time,
To let the punishment fit the crime,
The punishment fit the crime!"
The Lord of the Dead gave a pained grimace, and Dr. Doom threw back his head and laughed.
---
'What are you doing, out and about?' Joe Fixit thought sourly at his green counterpart while he did his stretches. The Savage Hulk, standing just a few feet to his left while Ares still glared at him from his right, wasn't really physically present. It was just a hallucination that only he, and the rest of the minds he shared a body with, could experience. That meant only Joe could see or hear the kid. Neither Victor nor the supposed gods had any idea what was going on his messed-up head.
It was seldom that the green one let himself be seen by the others, though. Not until it was too late to stop him, at any rate, Joe thought roughly. The Savage Hulk flinched in response to that thought. He'd felt Joe's irritation, even if his fellow Hulk never expressed it. The barriers between them were slowly breaking down. They were all, in the end, still Robert Bruce Banner. Even if that was still more burden than asset for them all right now, Joe thought again darkly. He didn't really care about the rest of him overhearing that line.
"…Big Hulk said to help…" the Child muttered at Joe, doubtlessly talking about the Devil. He was clearly not any happier to be here than Joe was to have him here. Fixit sighed, because he knew they had to keep on living with each other. They didn't have a choice in the matter. They were something more close-knit than just a family. Something more toxic, more poisonous, than just a family.
He gave the Kid a hesitant smile and thought back in response. 'Relax, kiddo. No help needed. Uncle Joe's just going to slap mean ol' Ares around a little and then we'll be back to minigolf and gnome-hunting in no time.'
"Stupid," the Green Hulk simply huffed in response, clearly not responding well to being talked down to. Joe glowered back. Kids these days.
'I ain't gonna say anything that'll set you off, but I'll just point out the obvious. You always hated it when other people called you stupid,' Joe frowned.
The Kid grimaced, looking down with a sour expression on his face. Trying to think his way through this. Putting as much thought into his words as he could muster. As much tact as he could possibly manage. "War Gods… too dangerous. Fighting them… never fun. Not a game."
'You're never any fun either. Relax. Even if he kills us, we ain't gonna lose. For once, let's just enjoy a fight,' Joe lectured.
"Stupid," the Kid said, though there was no heat in it this time. "Fighting… fighting never fun."
'Then why the hell did you never manage to stop?' Joe asked silently.
The Green Hulk simply shrugged, unable to think through a good response. He just stood there, with a sad and silent expression. The Gray Hulk scowled. He'd only understand where the Kid was coming from by doing, not by talking. That's how it always worked with that one. He hated that none of the rest of him had ever figured out how to talk their way through their problems. Not even Bruce himself had ever quite figured out the knack.
It wasn't like Joe Fixit was any good at it either. He just seemed to be the only one who ever tried.
Except trying it was the furthest thing from even his mind right now, Joe thought with a laugh as he grinned down at the black armored Ares. "Hey, last chance. You wanna just talk this through?" Just on the off chance that it might work. Because he was Joe Fixit. He was the chattiest personality in Bruce Banner's psyche, after all. He was the friendliest one.
Even if it was just by their own standards.
Ares just stared at him with calm and cool eyes. The puny god had his game face on and was taking this much more seriously than Joe was. The Gray Hulk narrowed his eyes in response.
"What'sa matter? Not having fun?" Joe said with a sinister smile. "We never met, but I know you. I know all the stories. You live for this crap." Joe himself had never fought Ares. But he had already seen all the memories a few of the other Hulks had of feeding him his teeth, down the line. While Joe himself had never had the pleasure before, Ares was nothing he couldn't handle.
"You're more fed up with this than I am," Ares scowled.
"What the hell are ya—"
"Why are we even doing this thing? Because they said so? Because we're such great idiots that we'll kill each other without ever caring why?" Ares was very angry, despite his stoic expression. Joe was a Hulk, and that meant he could always tell. The War God bore a kind of fury that defied even his ability to express. A calm and seething kind of hatred.
"I'm here because you and your ma had to get up in our business! You fuck around, and then you find out. That's life!" he barked harshly. But Ares held still.
"You also reek of war," the god said knowingly. "You stink of it. You're something far more dangerous than what my mother thinks. Stronger than what your supposed master thinks. They've both forgotten that we're not just their dogs, or their thugs. They've forgotten so badly that they made us forget it too. But even the worst and ugliest wars happen for a reason."
"Look at you. Playing philosopher all of a sudden," Joe said in a low and dangerous voice. But the god only turned away, looking to his mother.
"How are we doing this?" he asked his mother sullenly.
Hera fixed her gaze on Doom. "Until one party yields, or else is claimed by Hades," she said, motioning to the Lord of the Dead, standing stoically by Doom's left.
"Acceptable," Doom said smugly. The Gray Hulk realized that he didn't like Victor's tone very much. The fact that Doom was simply taking Joe's obedience for granted and tossing him into a battle to the death… it wasn't infuriating, but it was annoying.
Maybe, then, he could see where Ares was coming from. He supposed after a few thousand years at the beck and call of a mother that was every bit as obnoxious as Victor von Doom on his worst days really could be intolerable. It was like that even with the Avengers, sometimes. All the Hulks just felt as if they were a blunt instrument. Beasts to be unleashed but never respected or even liked. The treatment could get pretty exhausting and dehumanizing, Joe admitted. Even the mobsters he worked alongside with for Don Berengetti were able to show him more gratitude.
"Listen," Joe said with a sigh as he motioned towards Victor and Hera. "I get it, it's rough being treated like nothin' but somebody else's attack dog. She's your goddamn ma, man. Stand up to her! You don't gotta fight if you don't want tghghghh—" he suddenly stuttered as the edge of a gigantic black iron blade drove its way into his eye, and then further, into his brain.
"Stupid," the Kid said again with a roll of his eyes, as Joe felt his life drain away. It really was agony. There must have been something very special about Ares's sword, to make it hurt this badly. To kill him this slowly. "Gray man always gotta talk. Should've just shut up and finished quick. Fighting not fun, so get it over with quick. When you talk, talk. When you fight, fight. Fixit man always gotta do both."
He tried to think of something witty to say back, but his brain… their brain… was too busy trying to process their slow and painful death to manage much of anything else at the moment. Even the Kid was losing a bit of his brain power, unable to do much more after that proclamation than just point and laugh at their mutual expense as more of their gray matter died.
"That's done," Ares said, not even bothering to sound proud of getting the better of a Hulk. Still just sounding fed up with this whole thing. Still just sounding bored.
The only thing Joe could think of, as his vision dimmed, was 'you little shit.' Though whether that thought was to the Kid for his continued jeering, or the war god for his cheap shot and casual disdain, or himself for being so goddamned careless and letting himself get blindsided and killed by a halfwit like Ares, of all people, he wasn't sure. He didn't have it in him to make sense of things right now.
All Joe Fixit knew for sure was that there would be hell to pay. He didn't even have to think that kind of thought, because he could barely think at all now, to feel the absolute truth of it. It came from somewhere deeper than his brain. In the very marrow of his bones. He just knew.
The fight would end once Joe either surrendered or died. They'd get neither from him.