Marvel One-Shots

Can't Get Rid of Me That Easily- Bruce Banner x Female!Reader

Information for Context: Nothing! Just a story :)

Fem!Reader

Warnings: Vomiting, just once

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The gunshots were so loud. Your ears rang with every step, you fingernails were crusted over with dry blood and dirt, and your hair had fallen from it's original tied-back style, now a frizzy mess that fell around your face. Your legs were numb, but you remained on your feet, you couldn't lose.

Then, before you could protest, you fell into a black abyss.

"She's responsive, but injured," a voice said above you.

"Responsiveness is all I need," a second voice responded, panic clear in the shakiness of it.

You could feel warm hands quickly move over your body, checking and cleaning wounds with stinging chemicals and hydrogen peroxide. You squeezed your eyes shut, "That stings..."

"Oh my god," Bruce stopped his treatment, holding your face as your eyes slowly opened. You winced and squinted against the bright light. Bruce's eyes welled with tears, "You're awake! You're alive!"

You chuckled, "Yeah? What else would I be?"

"You could've died," Bruce quietly continued, "that was a long fight, and you were injured. We could've-" his voice broke as he continued, "I could've lost you."

Warm tears rimmed your own eyes. You reached up to Bruce's hair as he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, sobbing against the breathable fabric of your suit. You kissed his sweaty temple, "You didn't lose me," you whispered in assurance, "you can't get rid of me that easily."

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Over the course of the next few days, waves of nausea would wash over you every so often. You were still weak from the battle, and so Fury had ordered you bedrest under Banner's watchful eye until you were back to normal. You spent majority of the day curled up in bed or on the couch. Bruce was stuck to you like glue. Your muscles ached, breathing hurt, crying didn't help much either, though it was all you wanted to do.

Bruce sat beside you on the couch. You had curled into yourself and leaned against his frame, your head on his shoulder as he had placed an arm around you. You couldn't get comfortable, and then you felt the nausea return. 

You closed your eyes, "Bruce..."

"Hm?" he glanced to you, worrying quickly taking over him at how red your face was becoming, "What's wrong? You're clammy, what hurts?"

You shook your head, "Nauseous." 

Bruce threw the TV remote down to the floor, promptly picking you up bridal-style, rushing you to the bathroom just in time for you to vomit your breakfast. Bruce kneeled behind you, rubbing your back and tying your hair back with the ponytail holder he kept on his wrist for you.

"It's okay," he mumbled, "you're okay, it's just the after-shock of this week, it's normal," he mindlessly played with the ends of your makeshift ponytail, "I'll check you out for any infection or anything."

He stood up, grabbing a washcloth from a cabinet and wetting it under the sink when you dry-retched, coming back down to you and wiping your face for you. You slumped into him, flushed the toilet, and wrapped your arms around yourself. Your stomach ached. Tears were flowing. You wanted it to be over.

"I want to feel better," you pitifully whined in between sobs.

"I know honey," Bruce kissed your head, drawing you closer to him, "I know."

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After almost two weeks, your symptoms were gone, and your wounds were almost fully healed. You had been trying to find a movie to watch when you heard it. The roar. 
You sprung up from the couch, cautiously inching towards the exit as the stomping grew closer. Steve ran into the communal living area, "EVERYBODY RUN," he yelled, "WHERE'S NATASHA?!"

You froze with wide eyes when you saw him; a green, angry giant alive with fury. Your hands shook, "I-"

"Run!" Steve barked, "Get out of here!"

With one quick glance at Hulk, you bolted.

You sprinted through the wooded area that surrounded the compound as fast as your body would allow, never allowing yourself to glance back before you entered a clearing. You hunched over, holding yourself steady with your hands on your knees, gasping for air. Your healing wounds stung under their bandages, however so far nothing was bleeding. The roar echoed behind you again. 
Now high on adrenaline, you ran again. 
Birds flew in the sky above, tree rots threatened to trip you with every stride, sweat beaded in your hair and skin. When you looked back, you saw a flash of green, and screamed. Hulk had caught up with you. He plucked you up with ease, and without realizing just how hard he threw you, you were slammed against a tree, falling to the ground below.

'This is it,' you thought, 'this is the day I die'

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You woke up in the hospital wing. A cast held your throbbing leg in place, gauze covered your arms and a patch was on your face. When you looked down, a new set of stitches were on your stomach.

'Surgery' your groggy thoughts processed, 'What happened? I must've blacked out...'

Your hand brushed against something soft. You looked down, brows furrowing, "What the..."

Your face softened when you saw Bruce. He was sitting in a chair at your bedside, arms curled under his head as he leaned against your bed. He was asleep, and you could tell he had been crying from the tear stains that traced his features. You poked his cheek, "Bruce."

Banner stirred, "Hm? What," his eyes widened when he lifted his head, "Oh- oh my god I'm so sorry."

Bruce was almost hysterical, his words came flooding out, his grip on your hand tightened, and he clearly did not want to let you go. You grimaced from his hold, but you could manage.

"Bruce," you swallowed, your throat dry, "what happened?"

He shook his head, "It's- it's my fault, I'm sorry."

"No, it's not," you retaliated, "it's not your fault," you sighed, then, realization hit you, "how long was I out?"

Bruce looked to the floor, the atmosphere suddenly serious.

"Bruce?"

"Two months."

"What?"

"Two months," Bruce's voice broke when he looked to you again, "that's how long you were out."

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