Much as he wants to come back with a response, he knows that there will be plenty of time to lecture Bruce on how none of this was his fault. He intends to do it, too. At length. Until he gets it through his selectively thick skull that the only person at fault here is this so called Hot Hands, with whom he would feel slightly less animosity if he realized that hot in this case related to temperature, not something sexual.

Visions of punching this faceless individual a few times disappear from his mind, however, the moment Bruce pulls him into a hug. His own arms fold around him automatically, drawing him in tightly as he snorts.

“What was I going to do? Let you streak your way back home? Please. Of course I was going to stay. Where else would I be?” He says it literally, means it literally, too. But there’s an undercurrent in his voice that suggests that of course I was going to stay means something a bit more long-lasting than simply until Bruce wakes from a Hulk transformation.