Avengers Requests and Oneshots (Requests Open)

The Strongest Avenger - Bruce

This one shot is for: @iabsolutelylovekong from fanfiction.net!!! I hope you enjoy it!

Summary: "Just because you're the strongest Avenger doesn't mean you don't bleed the same as the rest of us."

Pairings: Bruce Banner x Natasha Romanoff

Genre: Hurt/comfort, fluff

TW: blood/gore

Note: I'm not a doctor and some of the medical treatment might be suspect.

Bruce's POV

"Nat, grab me that gauze. Yes, the big pack," I snapped, foreseeing the assassin's question by a mile. My ungloved hands were stained with Clint's blood as I applied pressure to the bullet wound in his side. Thankfully, no vital organs or arteries were damaged, just muscle and fatty tissue. Still, the wound was like any other bullet wound, pretty uniform on the entrance side, but wide, gaping and pulsing blood on the exit side. At least I wouldn't have to go digging around for the piece of lead; that would only cause both Clint and I more pain.

We had just finished a little skirmish on the outer edge of the city, nothing big, rather a small robot invasion in fact, but Clint had still gone and gotten himself shot anyway. Though it had been small compared to what the Avengers had faced in the past, the Big Guy had been called on. It was easier to just let the big green rage monster take to the streets and smash the robots until they were nothing but piles of bolts, screws, washers, and sheet metal. I was sore and in pain in more places than one, but my wounds could wait; I had more important things at hand, one being my teammate bleeding out on the table in front of me.

"Tony, he's going to need a transfusion, maybe two. Clint's AB positive, so get two pints of whatever we have most of," I ordered the engineer. He didn't say a word, just rushed out of the room. "Keep it in a cooler filled with ice!" I shouted at him as an afterthought, but I knew he knew what to do. We were in this situation more times than we could count, so everyone knew the procedure at this point.

"Clint, how are you feeling?" I asked as I pressed the fresh; it was quickly stained a deep crimson red. I cursed quietly and grabbed another pile of gauze, shoving into the wound. Clint cried out, and I winced.

"I'd feel a whole lot better if you weren't being so rough," he said, but there was no heat to his words. In fact, there was that stupid little smirk on his face. "I'm okay, doc," he said as he sobered slightly. "Got the best in the world right here," he said. "Six PhD.s, Doctor Banner?" he asked.

Though I knew he was teasing, I corrected him anyway with a quick, "seven." He chuckled and shook his head. He still had his humor intact. He would be okay, if only I could get this damn bleeding to stop.

"Nat, get me the alcohol and disinfectant." Clint groaned at my words, knowing the worst part was yet to come. "Then I need a sterile needle and some thread." Just then, Tony entered the room, the familiar red and white cooler lifted high.

"Here ya are, Clint. Got some nice B positive blood for ya," he said as he sat the cooler on the bedside table before opening the cooler and expertly attaching the blood bag to the nearby IV pole and then into the port of Clint's IV line.

"If I were a vampire, that would sound a lot more appetizing," Clint snarked though his eyes were creased in pain.

"If you were a vampire, we wouldn't be worrying about you bleeding out on the table right now," Nat deadpanned as she ran a cool cloth over the man's forehead, trying to get him grounded and in the present.

"Thor, Steve," I called to the two men who were standing on the sidelines, awaiting their orders. "Come hold Clint down while I numb him up and start disinfecting." The god and the super soldier were quick to comply, Steve coming to stand by Clint's head and hold his arms down while Thor took the archer's legs in his large hands. Despite how many times Clint had found himself on this table, he still couldn't stand needles, so we had no choice but to restrain the man every time we found ourselves in this predicament, which was far more often than preferred.