The Last Avenger [What If...? x DCAMU Crossover]

7. Hey Sundance, Don't Help People Dressed Like Bats When Russians Are After Him

Indiana Stark, A.K.A. Tony Stark's little sister, became the deadliest woman known to man.

And there came a day unlike any other, when Earth's Mightiest Heroes found themselves united against a common threat. On that day, she joined the Avengers.

This is what she does now that they're gone.

What are you still doing here? Read the damn chapter.

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I jolted awake, a cold sweat covering my body. Blood pounded in my ears, making everything sound faraway and underwater. But it wasn't the nightmare the woke me, it was the insistent knocking on my door.

"Jane!" I recognised the voice of Tito's kid, Petre Davitovich. He sounded scared and I hurried to the door, the wooden flooring cool beneath my feet. Petre dragged me outside to the dumpster. My stomach churned; I was sure I wasn't going to like what I found in there.

A low groan came from the bottom, and frowning I peeked over the edge. "Batman?!" He was in a bad way. Blood covered his face and suit, his left arm at a horrible angle. He was unconscious.

I pulled Batman from the dumpster and hoisted him over my shoulders in a fireman's carry. "Go home," I told Petre. "Don't tell anyone about this, not even your Ma, got it?"

He nodded and ran off. I carried Batman up four flights of stair to my apartment, kicking the door open. I lay him on the floor and inspected the damage. One side of his mask had had the eye ripped out and blood trickled from a wound. There were several rips in his suit revealing other cuts. The most serious one was a knife wound just below his rib cage on his right side.

I wasn't exactly a professional doctor, but I knew everything there was to know about how to kill a man, which meant I knew way too much about the human body. Batman wasn't going to die, but I had to do something about it. The fact was that I couldn't take Batman to the hospital. I tilted his chin and check his pulse, just as I felt the steady thud thud a hand shot out and grabbed my wrist.

He grunted and staggered up.

"Batman. Don't," I said, rising from my seat. "You've lost a lot of blood. And you've been stabbed."

His eyes wandered around the room, unseeing, not focusing on anything. He limped in no particular direction. "I need to leave," he muttered.

"You wanna leave?" I asked. "Door's that way."

He staggered again as he turned to face me. Then he promptly passed out. I caught him before he could hit the ground. Grumbling at his stubbornness, I carried to him the couch and then started clean and fix his wounds.

I spent half the night half-sitting, half-lying next to Bruce, stopping the bleeding from the stab wound, refreshing bandages, and trying not to dwell on the fact that someone had done this.

A couple minutes later he stirred and struggled to sit up, hissing in pain. He tried to stand, and I put a hand on his shoulder and firmly pushed him back against the couch. "Sit. Down," I said adamantly, keeping the pressure on his shoulder until he stopped trying to get up. "Are you gonnae listen to me this time?"

"Where am I?" he asked.

"My apartment."

He focused on me now. "Jane?"

"Aye." I chuckled a little. "I'm the lucky girl who pulled you out of the garbage."

His eyes shifted to the first aid kit on the floor. His next question was rather judgmental. "Do you make a habit of bringing in men passed out in the trash? Most people, they find
a bleeding masked man in the garbage... they call the police."