#friendly fighting

Rain pounds on the cement, thunder rolls in the distance and it’s as if a dark cloud is looming over New York. You keep your head down with your hood up. The one day you forgot your umbrella is the one day that it rains like a motherfucker. Your entire body shivers and shakes, and the gusts of wind is only making it worse. You desperately wanted to call for help or a ride, but your phone has been dead all day because you forgot to charge last night. And to top off the shit sundae, you got locked out of your apartment and your parents are gone for the weekend. So you have to walk all the way to the tower from school with no phone, no wallet and no umbrella.

Nothing is going your way at all. You just want to get to the tower, take a nice hot shower, and crawl in a hole and die. 

It’s only when the tower is in sight that you can relax and perk up a little and the pep comes back to your step. But without any warning, you fall forward. A figure runs past you at full speed with a purse in his hand. The contents of your bag spills out in front of you. You put out your hands and try to catch yourself, only to land hard on your wrist.

A cry falls from your lips as pain shoots up your arm. Tears immediately come to your eyes, not only from pain, but from your own righteous indignation. 

“Fuck,” You cry weakly, pushing yourself up with your good hand. You had superhealing like Peter, but it’s not instantaneous and you’re definitely feeling this one. 

You manage to gather your stuff with one hand and shove it back in your bag unceremoniously. You stumble to your feet, cradling your wrist to your chest. Walking the rest of the length to the tower, you desperately trying not to cry.

Someone was kind enough to hold the door for you when you finished walking the steps. After a quiet ‘thank you’, you stepped into the larger lobby. 

“Excuse me, miss. I need some ID.” The snotty voice of the receptionist rang throughout the wide area.

“I’m here almost everyday, Lisa. Can you let it go one time?” You snap, pausing before the elevator. 

“No, unfortunately not. It’s S.I. policy that we ID every visitor that enters the lobby.” Her voice bursts with fake sympathy.

“That is bullshit and you know it,” You voice hardens.

“I’m sorry ma’am. Please let me see your ID.”

You take a deep breath, trying not to go off on the bitchy receptionist. “Lisa, there are a ton of other people in here and neither you nor your co-workers have ID’d one of them. Now if you’ll excuse me,” You huff and walk towards the elevator, ready to press the button when someone puts a hand on your shoulder. You look behind you to see a security guard dressed in all black with a hard expression dressing his face.

“Can I help you?” You snap.

“I need you to come with me.” His voice is rough and low. His shoulders are squared, with arm gripping you, the other is placed on the weapon at his side.

“No.” More anger bubbles in your chest and your hands begin to shake. Your abilities begin to make themselves known through the surge of power you feel in your veins. Heat comes to your hands and your skin begins to warm up considerably. He grabs you by your upper arm, keeping a tight grip on it as he begins to drag you back to the entrance. 

“What the fuck, let me go!”

Anxiety replaces your frustration. Knowing that using your abilities for anything other than pure self defense would definitely land you a weekend in jail and a ban from most career choices, you’re desperate to keep your powers at bay. You struggle in his grip, his hands squeezing your upper arm likely to the point of bruising. He had you at the entrance when the elevator opens. You don’t see it, but Tony, Bruce, Steve and Sam walked out into the lobby. 

“What the hell is going on here?” Tony’s voice reverberates throughout the lobby with vigor. The bustling lobby goes silent; everything seems to stop. Your head snaps back to see Tony and Steve march up to the security guard. Steve pushes him off of you, and Tony begins to interrogate him.

“Why were your hands on my kid?” 

“I-w was-” 

“I don’t want to hear it. Get out of here and don’t come back.” 

The security guard’s face changes form hard to confused and back to hard as he exits the building with slightly slumped shoulders. 

“Mr. Stark, sir,” Lisa rushes out from behind her desk and in front of Tony. He glares down at her. “He was doing what I told him to, you don’t need to terminate him.” 

“Why was my kid being dragged out against her will? And why is she holding her wrist like that?”

“She didn’t give me an ID. It’s industry policy that we ID each visitor-”

“She’s been coming here almost everyday for over a year. She is not a visitor.”

“All I did was-”

“Save it. Go home and don’t come in tomorrow.”

“But, Mr. Stark-”

Tony doesn’t listen. Instead, he turns to where Bruce is gently holding your wrist in his hands, examining the sprain. You skin has cooled down, but you’re still shaking and breathing hard. Steve and Sam stand near you. Sam’s arms are crossed over his chest, his eyes ablaze with anger. Steve had draped his coat over your shaking body, warming you up without the help of your abilities. The anger had left your body when Tony and the others began handling the situation. It was replaced with defeat and exhaustion.

“Jesus kid, you’re soaked. Did you walk all the way here or something?” Tony’s voice went from brutal to concerned in a heartbeat. He ushers everyone to the elevator to avoid the prying eyes of those in the lobby.

“Yeah,” You say softly, wincing when Bruce pressed two fingers to your wrist. 

“Why didn’t you call one of us?” Steve asks. 

“My phone died.”

“Where’s your umbrella, honey?”

“In my apartment.”

“Why didn’t you get it before coming here?”

“I got locked out.”

“What happened to your wrist?”

“Someone ran into me and I fell on it.” 

“You couldn’t catch a break today, could you?”

You shake your head, sniffling. 

“You need to get changed before you catch a cold,” Steve says.

“That’s not how it works,” Tony chimes, glancing at Steve. “The common cold is a virus, the weather has almost nothing to do with it.”

“Really? She’s in pain and soaking wet and you’re chastising me for not wanting her to get sick?”

“I just thought you should know how viruses work. Your information is a little outdated. What’s it been? Seventy-three years?”

“You know what, Stark? You can-”

“Stop fighting.” Bruce says, a hint of a growl coming through his normal voice. The two men stop squabbling for a moment to turn their attention back to you. 

“Super-healing not working yet?”

“I think so, it just really hurts,” Your voice cracks as you hold back tears. You aren’t one to cry over most things, but the stress coupled with your feelings of defeat and indignation and finally getting a break become too much for you. 

“Oh kid, you don’t need to cry.” Tony speaks, voice turning slight with discomfort at the sight of a couple tears trailing your cheeks. “Seriously, you don’t.”

“Sorry,” You choke out, trying to wipe your eyes with your good hand. 

“Don’t apologize, Y/N. A release of emotion is healthy. Stark’s a robot, so he doesn’t understand that.” Steve says, wrapping an arm around you, and letting you rest your head on his shoulder. He throws a pointed look at Tony. “Cry if you need to.”

You nod as the elevator begins to rise. Steve keeps an arm wrapped around you, and you keep your head on his shoulder. You’re crying, but not outright sobbing and occasionally wiping your eyes. The sharp pain in your wrist has dulled to a simple throb, and your hair is slowly drying. The elevator is silent until Bruce speaks up.

“I’ll take a closer look with the live x-ray in the med bay. Right now it looks like a simple fracture that your body should be able to handle within the next couple hours,”

You only nod, eyes fixed on the elevator door. It opens to the med bay. It’s clean, medical instruments on carts and scales in other places. It takes up an entire floor for post-mission operations and other check ups. There are a few doctors on call for emergencies, however you and the other Avengers were most comfortable with Bruce or occasionally Dr. Strange checking in on you if you can help it. 

“Come over here,” Bruce says, leading you to a large table with a few slots built into it and a monitor on top of it. “I need you to take off the jacket and roll up your sleeve.”

You follow the instructions, and take off your bag and set it on the floor. Then you take off Steve’s jacket, hand it back to him, take of your soaking wet hoodie which Steve also takes and roll up the sleeve to your equally soaked shirt. 

“Put your arm through here,” Bruce says, gesturing to the slot in the table. It’s glass on both sides and emits a brilliant blue light. You sit in a chair near the table and out your injured arm through the slot. He gently grabs your hand and guides it to the right position. You fold your legs criss-cross-applesauce on the chair.

It takes a while for the image of your wrist on the monitor. Bruce studies it for a couple moments and you stare blankly at the image of your bones. There’s a small break on the radius of your forearm near your hand. 

“It’s a green-stick fracture, it uh looks like your healing factor has already begun to take care of it. Does it hurt?” You nod. “Alright, I can give you some of the painkillers that we give Peter when he’s hurt.” Bruce turns off the x-ray and lets you take your arm out before he gets up and rummages through a random cart. 

You look up when someone places their hand on your shoulder. Steve smiles down at you. “We’re ordering food, what do you want?”

You shrug, staring back at the now blank monitor. “Something warm,”

“Alright, Shawarma it is.” Tony declares.

“We are not eating Shawarma again. Let's get something more palatable,”

“Shawarma is palatable.”

“Not three nights in a row,”

“JARVIS, place the usual order the Chinese place downtown.” Sam says, rolling his eyes at their squabbling. 

“Done,” JARVIS’s automated voice rang out.

Bruce comes back over holding a small white pill in a small cup, a glass of water and what looks like a brace. You took it from him, easily swallowing the pill and water down. 

“Put this on with it. It’ll keep your arm in the right position,” 

“Thanks,” You say,slipping the brace on, tightening it and resting your injured arm on the table. 

“They’ll begin to take effect in a few minutes. You should be able to shower and get dressed after that.”

You nod, looking back down at your lap. Soon enough, your wrist stopped hurting. You get up without a word and take yourself to the floor you and Peter stay on when you’re staying overnight. Peter is running errands with May, so he won’t be in until later. 

You get to your room and push open the door. Tossing your bag and the brace on your bed, you plug in your phone and go to the bathroom. You turn on the shower to mildly scalding and peel of the wet clothes. 

You take a nice long shower, taking your time in warming up, and crying a little more. The hot water washed away the rest of your tears, your frustration and the anxiety that you’ve been lugging around all day. 

“Miss Y/N, the food has arrived. I recommend you get out soon before it is all gone.” JARVIS speaks. You sigh, turning off the water. You dry yourself off quickly enough and put on a soft crewneck sweater and a pair of large sweats and slip the brace back on.

You put on a pair of slippers and make your way to the communal floor to  see Steve making himself a plate. He smiles when he sees you.

“Feeling any better, sweetie?”

“Kinda,” You shrug. “I’m really tired,”

“It’s been a long day, doll. Get some food, Sam’s putting on a movie,”

You nod, grabbing a plate from the stack near the food. You fill it up with what you want and go to sit in the living room. Tony lounges on the largest chair in the living room, Sam sits with his legs up on the love seat, and Bruce is curled up on the smaller of the chairs in the living room. 

“Welcome back, kid.” Tony breathes out, stretching out lazily. He changed too, now donning a band shirt and some joggers. 

“Hey,” you greet him, sitting on the sofa that’s next to the love seat.

“We’re watching Easy A once Steve gets his ass in here!” Sam begins with an even tone before throwing his head over his shoulder and yelling the last part. 

“I’m coming, be patient.” He grumbles, taking a seat next to you and placing his food on the coffee table.

“Took you long enough, Capsicle. Start the movie, J.”

“Yes, sir.”

The lights in the living room dim, the surround sound starts and the movie begins to play. You sink in the couch, the comfortable plush calming you even more. With the help of the drugs and the brace, your wrist feels as good as knew. Gratitude warms you chest as you catch Tony’s eye. You smile at him.