this is a fic that is about the avengers as a group and it was going to be a three part but at this second i’m only confident on one part so expect nothing. thanks.
You grimaced, staring at the white of your thigh. It’s likely very bad that you can’t feel this, can’t feel the searing heat that should be there or the little leaks of blood that’re escaping. Only a couple leaks, luckily. That’s the point of burning the flesh, so the blood doesn’t leak out. Not that you’d been bleeding before you’d been hit with a flamethrower to the thigh at point blank range.
Not the point. What’s also not the point is that you definitely shouldn’t have tried to take on a flamethrower guy on your lonesome, as Steve has so succinctly pointed out over comms at least a dozen times already, but it’s always best to set the scene.
Maybe that’s a bad thing, thinking you’re setting a scene. It’s just your head, and there’s no one else around, nor are you even speaking aloud. And this isn’t a show or movie or book or anything like that. Do burns effect the way a person thinks? Is it like when you go mad with pain? Strange considering you can’t feel any pain. Or not much. There are little shallower burns around the edges but that’s not the point.
“And I swear, every time we let you try and fight without a buddy something goes wrong! How- Dammit- How are we supposed to trust you on a mission if you can’t keep yourself from getting wounded to the point of needing time off?” Steve roars in your ear, the twang and screams elicited by his shield as it flies from point to point wherever he is the background to your undressing.
The twang and screams elicited by his shield as it flies from point to point wherever he is the background to your undressing? Now all you can think of is doing a sexy strip tease to a backing track of Steve in battle. A hip bump with every grunt, arms flying high and sliding down your body to the sound of a dying mans scream.
“Lay off the kid, you know she’s still learning.” Tony pipes up, his voice sympathetic but you’re barely focused on the conversation right now. An ant is crawling up your hand.
Bullets tear up the earth a few feet from you and you frown at the sight. Why does man have to destroy the earth? What has the earth ever done but feed and clothe us?
Tsunamis, tornados, earth quakes and volcanoes.
“Ha! That’s right.” You giggle, cringing at the high pitched noise of your laugh. Like a keen or a squeak. Hysterical sounding, almost.
“What the hell kid? I’m trying to stick up for you.” Tony snaps and you shake your head, trying to refocus on the conversation through the comms.
“Sorry? What?” You mumble, raising a dirty finger and lowering it slow motion toward your burn. Maybe if you prod it, you’ll feel something. A crumb of dirt drops from your palm, landing on the cloth left covering your thigh and someone shouts across the field.
“She knows she’s being an idiot, she admitted it.” Steve growls and you blink at the empty field.
“Steve, shut up.” Tony snaps, worry in his voice. “Kid, what’re you thinking about right now?”
Steve’s voice starts up again, only to be shushed by Tony once more and radio silence fills your ear.
You rack your brain, what do they want you to say? Are you supposed to provide humour for the group? Is this a sombre moment? You were barely listening.
“It’s strange how geese have teeth. I’m not sure if ducks have teeth but it’s worth looking into, don’t you guys agree? Oh, and there’s an ant and he was on my shin before but he’s on my knee and I think he wants to eat my delicious crispy flesh.”
“Please tell me you haven’t eaten any of your burned skin?” Clint begs, the sound of someone gagging coming through the comms.
“No, I haven’t. Should I? Is that… Is that how I’ll be able to feel again cause right now it’s like my leg is… It’s like my leg is dizzy.” You wonder, hearing a soft curse run through the line in your ear.
“I’ll see you in one minute, Y/N, and we’re gonna get you on the jet. Where are you?” Tony asks softly, his voice soothing and you yawn at the cadence. Nice.
“Same spot. Never left, I sort of felt vomity so I sat down and then everyone sort of ran off. Probably didn’t want me to be sick on them.” You laugh, only for the sound to die and your eyes to go wide. “Help, guys. Help.”
“The ant is nearly at the wound; it won’t heal good if there’s an ant bite on it. Hurry!”
“Oh my god.” Natasha groans and you can’t help softly and bitterly mimicking the sound. A thud sounds as a red and gold robot appears before you.
“Hello, are you real?” You frown, beaming as the bot nods its head. “You’re an AI, you’re so cool!”
“Please be still, Miss.” The automated voice rumbles, kneeling and scooping you into its hard arms. “My scans show you have received third degree burns to two thirds of your left thigh. I have been instructed to take you to the jet, do you object?”
“Nope.” You smile, patting the robots glowing heart happily and trying not to squeak as you’re jostled into the sky.
“You do realize that this could be grounds for you to be taken off the team.” Pietro sighs, and you pout at him. What’s the point of having a beautiful boy on your bed if he’s gonna talk?
“Of all the things I could live without, fighting for my life on a weekly basis- if I’m having a good run, is high on the list.” You shrug, running your fingers through his hair and gazing at him. How is he so pretty? It has to be the hair with his dark eyebrows. Art.
“You’d leave the team?”
“No!” You laugh, the offense and outright amazement in his voice comical. “I’d never leave the team while they’d have me. But I hate running all the time, I hate being so bad at this, I just hate being constantly sick.”
“You love bed rest!” Pietro counters and you laugh, flopping back against the pillow and trying not to visibly wince.
“I love bed rest because I am loved. What I don’t love about bed rest is being in pain. Even lying here with you, mostly still and doing nothing but talking, is utterly exhausting and it feels like someones running lines along my thigh with a dull razor.” You mumble, your eyes drifting around your bed before you push against the mattress, sliding yourself further down the bed and setting your head on your pillow. Pietros eyes meet yours levelly on the other pillow and you avoid his gaze.
“Y/N.” He mumbles softly and you shrug, holding out your hand and interlacing your fingers.