Location: São Paulo, Brazil
Three Weeks After the Malibu Incident
Bruce Banner was tired.
Not the regular kind of tired—the kind you fixed with coffee and a good night's sleep. This was the bone-deep exhaustion that came from being on the run for months, sleeping in different places every night, always looking over your shoulder for the military units that General Ross kept sending after him.
He'd thought Brazil would be safer. Big city, easy to disappear, plenty of places to hide. But Ross was persistent, and Bruce could feel the noose tightening. Another week, maybe two, and he'd have to move again.
He'd spent the day at a local construction site, doing manual labor under a fake name for cash. It wasn't glamorous, but it kept him fed and off the grid. As the sun set, he took his usual route through the less-traveled paths of the city outskirts, winding through areas that tourists never saw.
He was thinking about Betty—wondering where she was, if she was safe, if she ever thought about him—when his foot caught on something.
Bruce stumbled, arms windmilling, and went down hard. Pain shot through his shoulder as he hit the ground, and he felt it immediately: the spike in his heart rate, the surge of adrenaline, the familiar warmth spreading through his chest.
No. No, no, no—
"Calma, calma," he muttered to himself in Portuguese, the breathing exercises already starting. "Calm. Stay calm. It's just a fall. You're fine. Nothing to worry about—"
But his heart rate kept climbing. The pain had been unexpected, and his body was reacting before his mind could catch up. He could feel the transformation starting, that horrible sensation of his cells rewriting themselves, his consciousness beginning to slip away into the green.
Not here. Too many people. Have to get away—
He tried to stand, but his leg muscles were already bulging, tearing through his pants. His vision was starting to tint green at the edges. Somewhere in the rational part of his mind that was rapidly shrinking, Bruce registered the sound of stone cracking.
Then he heard it: a sound like a soft, melodic balloon deflating.
"Jiggly..."
Through the haze of transformation, Bruce saw something emerging from the cracked egg-shaped stone he'd tripped over. Something round and pink, with large blue-green eyes and a curl of hair on top of its head. It was small—about twenty inches tall—and looked soft, like it was made of marshmallow or clouds.
The creature looked at him with those enormous eyes, and Bruce felt the Hulk pause mid-transformation. His skin was already half-green, his muscles bulging against his shredded shirt, but something about the creature's gaze was... knowing.
"Jigglypuff," the creature said softly, and began to sing.
The sound was unlike anything Bruce had ever heard. It wasn't just music—it was something more fundamental. The notes seemed to resonate with his very cells, reaching into the spaces where his DNA was trying to tear itself apart and gently, so gently, encouraging it to settle.
His heart rate began to slow.
The green receded from his vision.
But his eyelids were growing heavy. The melody was lulling, hypnotic, pulling him toward sleep with the irresistible weight of a lullaby sung by the universe itself.
Can't... can't fall asleep here. Not safe. Ross could find me. Have to stay—
The song wavered. Changed pitch slightly.
Bruce's eyes snapped open—when had they closed?—and he found himself staring at Jigglypuff. The creature had stopped singing and was watching him with concern, head tilted, as if asking a question.
"I... I can't fall asleep," Bruce gasped, still fighting the transformation. His skin was flickering between flesh tone and green. "Too dangerous. Need to stay awake. Need to—"
Jigglypuff's expression shifted to something that looked like understanding. It nodded once, firmly, then began to hum instead of sing.
The sound was different this time. Still melodic, still soothing, but... softer. More like a gentle vibration than a full song. The drowsiness receded to a manageable haze—still there, still pulling at the edges of his consciousness, but not overwhelming.
And the transformation stopped.
Bruce collapsed back against the ground, gasping, fully human again. His clothes were torn, his body was exhausted, and he was fighting to keep his eyes open against the gentle pull of Jigglypuff's humming, but he hadn't transformed. For the first time since the accident, he'd been on the edge of becoming the Hulk and had pulled back.
The round pink creature hopped closer—literally hopped, on tiny feet he could barely see—and sat down next to him, adjusting its humming to a barely audible frequency. It reached out one stubby arm and patted his hand.
"Jiggly," it said, sounding pleased with itself.
Bruce stared at it, his scientist brain trying to process what had just happened while his exhausted body just wanted to lie there. "What... what are you?"
The creature tilted its head, ears—or were they tufts of fur?—bouncing slightly. It pointed to itself. "Jigglypuff!"
"Jigglypuff," Bruce repeated weakly. "Is that... your name? Your species?"
"Jigglypuff!" The creature nodded enthusiastically, then looked at the cracked stone behind it with curiosity, as if seeing it for the first time.
Bruce slowly sat up, wincing at the various aches and pains. His clothes were ruined, but that was a problem for later. Right now, he was focused on the impossible creature sitting next to him.
"You stopped it," he said quietly. "The Hulk. You stopped the transformation." His hands were shaking—from exhaustion or relief, he wasn't sure. "Your song—it was putting me to sleep, wasn't it? But you changed it. You understood I needed to stay awake."
Jigglypuff nodded, looking proud. It made a soft humming sound again—that same modified frequency—and Bruce felt the drowsiness increase just slightly before the creature adjusted again, bringing it back to that perfect balance between calm and consciousness.
"You're controlling it," Bruce breathed. "Modulating the effect. That's... that's incredible."
The sound washed over Bruce like a cool breeze on a hot day, and he felt his racing thoughts begin to settle without the overwhelming pull toward sleep. The creature was learning. Adapting its natural ability to meet his needs.
For the first time in months, he felt... safe.
In the distance, he heard sirens. His fall must have attracted attention, or someone had called in a disturbance. Either way, he needed to move.
Bruce stood up carefully, testing his limbs. Everything hurt, but he was functional. He looked down at Jigglypuff. "I need to get out of here. There are people looking for me. Bad people. You should probably find somewhere safe to—"
Jigglypuff stood up and waddled over to him, then reached up with both arms in the universal gesture of 'pick me up.'
"You want to come with me?" Bruce asked, stunned. "I'm not safe. Everywhere I go, people get hurt. The Hulk—"
"Jiggly!" The creature said firmly, then repeated its reaching gesture.
Bruce looked at those innocent eyes, thought about how the creature had understood his need to stay awake and had adapted its song for him, and made a decision that probably would have made Betty worry and Ross furious.
He picked up Jigglypuff, who immediately settled into his arms with a contented sigh, maintaining that barely-there hum that kept him calm without pulling him under.
"Okay," Bruce said quietly. "Okay, we'll try this. But if things get dangerous—if the Hulk comes out despite your... whatever you're doing—you run. Deal?"
Jigglypuff just snuggled closer and made a happy humming sound, adjusting the frequency as Bruce's heart rate settled into a more normal rhythm.
As Bruce slipped into the shadows, heading for his current safe house with his impossible new companion, he allowed himself a small smile. For the first time since the accident, he had hope that maybe—just maybe—he could gain some control over the monster inside him.
Behind them, the broken egg-stone lay in pieces, slowly dissolving into particles of light that faded into the evening air. One more being had crossed the dimensional barrier.
And across the world, more would follow.