Marvel Imagines, Preferences, One Shots etc. II

Clint Barton- Broken Rib (c)

It wasn't the first time you had seen Clint Barton laying in a hospital bed. You had first seen it at the local hospital, where you had worked at the time. He had claimed he had been accidentally shot by his friend Natasha, but from the smirk on her face, you assumed she had done it on purpose. Normally that'd be a cause for concern but having now gotten to know Clint you realised he probably deserved whatever she had done to him.

It became a regular occurrence for him to be in the hospital, constantly injured in a fight or just sparring with his friends- although it was also common for him to just be a clumsy fool. After about the thirtieth visit, you had met Tony Stark. Tony had offered you a by far better paying job along with accommodation. You were now the Avengers nurse, although it was more than common to just be focusing on Clint whom was the most likely to have an idiotic injury, rather than just one from a fight.

You were in the room that had become your office, making sure all the paperwork on all the members were organised properly so you weren't to blame for being the reason one of Earths Mightiest Heroes had to retire early or worse.

A loud knock on the door made you drop the pile of paper on your desk ruining the organisation you had been partaking in.

"Come in," you called, trying to put the paper in a pile, so it was out of the way for now.

The door opened to reveal your usual patient being assisted by the small redhead.

"I'm fine," he grumbled gruffly.

"Tony threw you across the room," Natasha stated. "You are not fine."

"I'm fine, dammit," he exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air but quickly pulling them back, wincing in pain although he did attempt to hide it.

You rolled your eyes. At first, he'd always argue the point and try to pretend that he was perfectly okay, even though that was very rarely the case. But then it would later change so that he would try to make it as evident as possible that he was the poorly victim of cruel fate.

"Clinton, sit on the bed," you sighed, giving Natasha a sympathetic look for having to put up with him and haul his arse to you whenever he got injured.

He went to argue but Natasha moved her hand as though to touch his side, and he quickly moved to be sat on the hospital bed.

You ran several tests, and inspected where the injury was, and it was pretty clear what was wrong.

"If I am not mistaken, you have broken a rib," you sighed. "I'd have to get you an x-ray to be sure, but you have almost certainly broken something. Although it will heal, you are far from fine."

It seemed as though realisation had finally hit him, that he was in fact actually hurt, and not in the way his ego usually was.

"That must be why it hurts so much when I laugh."

~*~

Written by Charlotte.