You could see the city lights as you crawled back into your seat, having passed out on the floor of the helicopter, and you smiled with droopy eyes, knowing you were home. The intercom up front started going off and you cringed getting up to sit in the pilot's seat before flicking it on.
"Flight..." You trailed off, realizing you had no idea what number this was, so you improvised, "Um, hello! How're you today?"
"Who is this." A gruff voice demanded, and you winced.
"Request to land?"
"Request denied."
"I don't know where else to park this and it's landing in about...five minutes."
"Request. Denied."
"Fury?" You blurted, slapping a hand over your mouth, but not in time.
"Who is this?" He shouted angrily.
"Crap," You muttered when you took your hand off your shoulder, blood starting to pour out again, "I'm gonna um..." You felt woozy, "I'm gonna possibly pass out now, so please just send the uh...Frozone guy."
"...L/n?" He asked so quietly you almost didn't catch it.
The helicopter landed and you were doing your best not to pass out again. The door slid open on its own and you were met with about five agents pointing their guns at you. Your mask was lifted in an attempt to hide your identity, even half dead you're still paranoid, and you just barely made out the giant blonde pushing by them.
"Stand down!" He scolded like they should already know and then ran up to you.
"Steven," You nodded formally, and he lifted you bridal style, "Any way in hell I get through this with few people knowing I'm not dead?" You mumbled and he let out a sigh, "Had to...ask."
"Keep your voice down and face me."
You didn't have to be told twice before you snuggled against his chest, gripping his jacket with any strength you had left, and he rushed inside to get you help.
He laid you down on a gurney, your mask still covering half your face and he put a beanie on you, tucking your hair inside. It wasn't his best work, but it would have to do to keep your identity off the cameras.
"What do we have?" Someone asked and you looked to Steve in a panic, not knowing who the voice belonged to.
"Banner. Where's Dr. Banner?" He asked them and they led the way.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, Bruce!" You seethed and the doctor chuckled, amused.
Steve had somehow managed to get you into a secure room with no cameras where the doctor could work on you alone. It wasn't as sexy as it sounds though because this guy loves a harsh antibiotic paired with some barbaric stitches, the green son of a bitch.
"I can't believe you've been alive all this time," He mumbled, focusing on his sewing skills, "It's been almost eight months, where've you been?"
"Fighting crime."
"This is going to take time to heal," He ignored you, "You don't box, do you?"
"No, I fight."
"What's the difference?"
"Rules."
"Well, no fighting," He warned, "Your stitches will naturally pull, but that's an easy fix and if you rest properly, they'll heal just fine with little to no scarring."
You looked down at your lap guiltily before mumbling a small,
"Thanks, doc."
There was a knock at the door, and he handed you your things,
