bulletproof

3

Bruce sat there, wringing his hands with grief as he imagined the worst possible scenarios, he had already deemed her dead in his eyes as he watched the two strongest people he knew break down, huddled by the avenger he admired the most.

The jet rattled suddenly, creating jolting movements and screams of pain from Y/N as they landed. Relief overcame the team as they saw that Sam had landed the jet on the helicopter pad of a hospital.

Tony was already on the phone with them, telling them urgently that they had brought a seriously injured patient, his voice was panic-stricken, and he was running his hands through his hair. A twitch had formed in his left eye, his lower eyelid going up every few seconds as he spoke through the phone and he could feel a familiar ache start in his arm. He abruptly hung up and rubbed his arm, wincing as the soreness increased.

A group of doctors and nurses ran into the jet and carried her onto a metal table-like stretcher, frowning at the pool of blood on the old stretcher and floor, before rushing her back into the building, leaving the Avengers to sit in there, numb.

Bruce lifted his head and gasped, looking directly at the blood-soaked wound on Steve's shoulder. The cloud of blood on the material had expanded to the star on his chest but he didn't seem to notice it.

"Steve!" he exclaimed, darting forward and trying peel away the suit, "When did you get that?"

Steve blinked to his senses, noticing suddenly his wound as a flood of agony washed over him. He grimaced, "Just before Y/N got shot, I think..."

Bruce reached for a pair of scissors and cut away at the area on the shoulder, sighing at the sight, "This isn't too bad...I can take the bullet out and stitch it up without any fuss...but it might be a good idea to consult a doctor." He attempted to get up, but Steve pulled him back down, shaking his head.

"They have enough on their plate at the moment without worrying about me. The serum will kick in once the bullet's out."

Bruce protested, "They have more doctors than just the group who came in just now," he reasoned, wincing at the scene before him before whirling around, "Anyone else have any injuries they've been hiding?" His voice was stricter than the gentle Bruce Banner they knew.

Nat shook her head a little too much and he squinted at her, nostrils flared. She looked down, a little ashamed, before admitting that a bullet grazed her side, but then added that it only needed a stitch up.

The rest of the team denied having injuries. They were only peppered with bruises and small cuts, nothing major.

After Steve's shoulder and Nat's side was fixed up enough, they descended from the jet and entered the hospital.

A wave of detergent and cleanliness hit their noses as they walked down the corridors, trying to find the cafeteria to rest. Sam's stomach twisted itself into knots as the smell became overpowering and the faint cries and sniffles circulated around the hospital, reminding him of the number of times he had spent in hospital when he worked in the army, praying to God that He'd spare his friends', comrades', fellow soldiers', lives. He gagged and ran to a trash can, hurling the contents of his stomach into it.

Clint rubbed Sam's back as he finished heaving into the can, not knowing what else to do.

They found the cafeteria and sat there, looking lost and forlorn. They wanted to find Y/N but didn't know where she was or where to start looking. Tony got mugs of coffee, but they were left untouched on the table, none of them able to swallow anything down.

Bruce was fiddling with his hands, his mind racing at a thousand miles per hour as he pictured different scenarios in his head. He ended up trying to block his thoughts, constantly checking on Steve's stitches, as they were in an awkward position.

Steve wasn't doing much better either, his hands were balled up into fists and he longed to punch something, to not think. He was emotionally drained and mentally exhausted. He secretly wished Tony would say some smartass comment or a funny remark, but the genius couldn't formulate his words into sentences. He couldn't think, something that hadn't happened since he first found out that his parents had died, and it frightened him. If there was one thing he could rely on in times of crisis, it was his brain, and his brain wasn't working.

He looked over to Natasha, frowning at the sight. She was just staring into her blood-stained hands, hovering them over the table, watching them tremble. She wasn't blinking but hot tears were trickling down, landing on her lap. She was murmuring something though. Something in Russian.

Tony wanted to cry ...or scream or laugh. He didn't know with one.

Look at us, he thought, Earth's mightiest heroes...turning into robots from shock.