It was, in effect, virtually painless, but the effort was worth it when Clint tried to open his mouth and his eyes grew to the size of saucers when he realized that he couldn't. That green energy shot out and formed a needle and thread, sewing Clint's mouth closed. "Aww, I think that he cares about you." Clint griped. But I would very much appreciate if you cooperated for once in your life and let me take care of you, you foolish, stubborn mortal." That was as close to a declaration of love as he'd ever get. When the force withdrew itself, Tony couldn't help but feel strangely lonely - like he'd lost something important. It was like a gentle hand was going in and healing him from the inside out. The burning pain that had enveloped him moments before began to dull, bringing him relief in a way that the morphine simply couldn't. Tony's cast began to glow with that same eerie green light that had enveloped the door just a moment before. The name of the one who has taken it upon himself to rearrange the bones in your arm." Normally docile blue eyes flashed a dangerous green. Placing his hands on his hips, green energy radiated from his fingertips. regardless, Loki wasn't pleased by his answer. "His name?" Maybe it was the morphine pump finally doing it's job, or maybe he was just so stumped by the question he was rendered momentarily speechless. "Son of Stark," Loki hissed, his voice dangerously low.
A second later, the door disintegrated in a puff of green smoke, and an irate god of mischief (with god of thunder in tow) stormed in. Steve opened his mouth to answer that they had not, in fact, seen the god of thunder since the battle, when a strange green energy enveloped the door to Tony's hospital room. "Has anyone heard from Thor?" Tony looked at his comrades, who looked between each other questioningly. He'd tossed the god around like a rag doll, before slamming him into the side of a skyscraper and leaving him there in the collapsing structure.
If he remembered correctly, Thor had been the unfortunate one to discover that baddie-of-the-week could lift people in addition to objects.
Tony had to admit, he was more than a little surprised that the blond god of thunder wasn't there. Nobody had seen Bruce since the middle of the battle, but the big guy was pretty impervious to harm, so they weren't too worried. The wounds gradually escalated, from Steve's concussion, to Natasha's bloodied midsection, to Tony's shattered arm. Baddie-of-the-week had turned out to be a telekinetic with latent powers, which apparently activated under extreme duress - otherwise known as men and women in spandex and metal suits of armor (not to mention a giant green rage monster) asking (if 'asking' translated to pointing huge guns at you and demanding) you to turn over nuclear codes you didn't even remember stealing - and the Avengers had paid the consequences of receiving poor information.Īt the lesser end of the spectrum, Clint's lower lip looked like he'd made-out with a cactus. Yeah, it had definitely been a hard loss. "That's what happens when you don't find out your opponent is telekinetic until halfway through a mission." She was sporting a healthy amount of gauze on her midsection, where a shattered rock had impaled her midsection. "Just cut to the chase, okay, Cap? We had our asses handed to us." She bit out. "It was a hard loss -," Steve started, but Natasha cut him off. what happened after I blacked out?" From the grim look on their faces, he knew the answer. The rest of the team filed in, looking equally worse for wear. Botox job gone wrong, buddy?"Ĭlint smirked, flashing a bloody, bruised lower lip. "Can't say the same about your face, though. He hadn't actually seen what it looked like beneath the cast - just the mangled mess that it had been on the battlefield. The surgeons did a fabulous job of reconstructing my arm." Or, at least, he assumed that they did. Robot?" Clint clapped a hand onto Tony's good shoulder, inclining his head toward the white fiberglass cast that was being elevated above the bed by thick, white bands that were suspended from the ceiling. But that didn't change the fact that his arm hurt like hell, and his lover, who should've been there making everything better, was nowhere to be found. Anything more and it would be his entire body being held together by various instruments better suited to one of his suits than an actual human body. Really, he should be thankful that it wasn't worse. Now, three hours of surgery later, he felt like the Tin Woodman listening as the doctor told him about the various pins, screws, and metal plates that were needed to hold his arm together. If he'd only managed to be three seconds faster, he would've managed to completely avoid the boulder and with it, his shattered arm.