#saturday was spent at the vet all day because he pulled some of his stitches | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fangirl-faye · 7 years ago

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Don’t need any more blind dates

Characters: Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes, Clint Barton/Phil Coulson, Natasha Romanov, Tony Stark

Summary: Steve is an ex-SHIELD-worker, now Nurse in a hospital. There he meets Natasha, who is always companying Clint Barton, who has Arrows stuck in places you don’t want to know how they got there. Natasha also works with a vet who wants to keep dating but blind dates aren’t his thing. When he doesn’t want to meet Steve, Natasha has to help. Basically by falling off a wall.

A/N: This Clint Barton gif just describeshim perfectly okay :D

Warnings: Injuries (but nothing severe), mentions of minor-character-death (offscreen)

She tapped her knee in exasperation and listened to the scratch of the pen on paper next to her.

“How did you even manage that?” the red hair turned her head towards her companion. “I was not looking for what? Thirty seconds and you…” the rest of her rant silenced by the arrival of a nurse.

“Mr. Barton? The man with the arrow in his…”

“Jep. That’s him. Get that stick out of his ass and then stab him with it, please.” The woman groaned and Clint sighed.

“Don’t listen to Nat. She is just angry that she didn’t get to stick stuff up my ass.” The blond nurse chuckled.

"Believe me. As long as it is just in your butt and not any other holes of your body I've seen and removed worse."

Clint followed the nurse, leaving Natasha in the waiting room of the ER.

“What was the weirdest you ever had to remove from someone’s body?” Clint asked, lying down on the bed in the room after changing into a hospital gown.

“Oh man. There was so much.” The guy laughed and then seemed to think about the question. “I think the weirdest thing so far this week was an arrow from someone’s bun, and apparently he was the only one with a bow on the shooting range.”

“Touché.” Clint laughed.

“Your friend out there was right. How did you manage that?”

"Don't tell her. The strap of my quiver opened and apparently one of the arrows was in there with the tip up and I have the habit of sitting down on everything that is behind me."

The blond nurse laughed.

“Stuff like that usually doesn’t happen.” He replied and puts the gloves on, poking at the skin around the arrow.

"Hey. Careful. Usually, I want people to buy me dinner first. And, believe me, Hot Nurse, whose name I didn't catch, but stuff like that just happens to me." Looking to the side, Clint caught a light blush on the nurse's neck.

“Uhm… Steve… Steve Rogers. And I am about to remove an arrow from your bun, I think I am entitled to touch it without dinner.”

“Yeah. Better that way. My husband wouldn’t approve.” Clint said casually. Then he frowned. “Steve Rogers? Captain Steve Rogers?” He turned his upper body around to look at Steve. He frowned at the arrow (or Clint’s butt, but that couldn’t be, it was a great butt).

“Uhhhm… was… yeah. How do you know?”

Clint laughed, only yelping when Steve moved the arrow and pulled it out quickly and started to stitch the wound together.

“Oh man. Phil will have a field day when he finds out who touched my butt today.”

“Phil Coulson?” Steve asked absently and Clint hummed.

“Yeah. He’s my husband. So I think he wouldn’t mind a date.”

Steve snorted and put a band-aid over the stitches.

“Sorry. But I don’t go out with married people. So. As good as new.” He frowned again for a second and Clint raised an eyebrow.

“What?”

“Don’t let him come by while I work. He would do that.” Clint thought for a second, then nodded.

“He would. Don’t worry. I’ll make sure he won’t come by. See you next time, Captain Rogers.” Clint gave a mock salute and left the hospital room. Steve smiled, looking at the clothes on the chair. When he heard a yelp outside and an exasperated “Clint!” he chuckled lightly. This was definitely the boyfriend, Coulson had always been talking about.

See, after the secret organization SHIELD Steve and Coulson and many others had been working for, had shut down, Steve had, instead of being reassigned to another unit, taken up the offer of going back to New York, building up a new life. Following his mother's footsteps, he had become a nurse in the same hospital she had been working for before getting sick and dying when he was 18. Some of the older nurses remembered the little Rogers boy and had taken him by the hand and welcomed him like family after his return.

He loved working in the ER, meeting interesting people and it made great stories when he met up with Rhodey, Sam, Tony and many friends of his on Saturday evening in one of the many bar’s Tony owned. His friends had loved the story about the arrow-bun of their old friend Phil’s husband. Sometimes they missed the people they had been working with. Thor Odinson, who had gone back to Norway or wherever or Jane Foster, his ex-girlfriend who had settled in Alaska.

Now, a few weeks after meeting Clint, Sharon, a nurse Steve worked with on a regular came into the breakroom where Steve was typing away on his phone and called out.

“Hey, Steve. There is someone in the ER asking for you by name. He has an arrow stuck in his upper arm, he said you’d know.”

Steve groaned.

"Comin'" he replied, putting his phone away and stood up, jogging into the waiting area. And yep, there was Phil's husband Clint and the red-haired woman, Nat apparently. Clint waved his uninjured shoulder.

"Hey, Steve. Told you I'd come back." He stood up from his chair smiling way to bright for someone who had an arrow sticking THROUGH his upper arm. Nat stood up as well, following Clint into the room Steve showed them to.

"I'll be right back. Change into the gown, I think that calls for a bit more than a few stitches."

The red-haired woman glared at Clint. And while Steve went, telling one of the doctors, he heard a suffering "Why is it always me?" from her and barely kept himself from chuckling.

When he came back, Clint sat on the bed, legs crossed.

“Steve. That’s my friend Natasha, she isn’t as dangerous as she acts. I really think she just needs a hug, but when I try she threatens me to cut off my dick and Phil wouldn’t like that. Nat, that’s Steve, the Captain my husband has a boner for.”

Steve blushed and chuckled, while Natasha growled at Clint. Then she stood up, looking Steve up and down, assessing him.

“Natasha Romanov, I was working for SHIELD too. Mole in Red Room.” She held out her hand.

“Steve Rogers, Howling Commandos most of the time. So you are the Black Widow who brought all the information to Fury.” Natasha smiled.

“The one and only. It’s an honor to meet you, Captain America.” She put special emphasis on the name his Unit had given him back then and he groaned.

“Please don’t. It’s embarrassing.” Then he turned to Clint. “As for you. I am not sure if I want to know how it happened, I just know that the doctor will be there soon. He will assess if you need surgery or not.”

Clint nodded.

“I hope not. Phil wouldn’t like that at all. And for how it happened…”

Natasha interrupted. “He tried to shoot over his shoulder and the arrow got stuck. Then he fell forward.”

“As I said. Things like that just happen to me.”

Steve just nodded.

“He is right. These things somehow always happen, always around me.” Natasha sighs and Steve cracks a smile.

“Don’t worry. Phil wasn’t any better. I know the one or other story.”

"Oh. Tell me." Clint leans forward and nearly falls from the bed. Luckily the doctor comes in right at this moment and both, Steve and Natasha leave the room.

“I had to interrupt my break. Care to join me?” he asks her and she shrugs.

Back at the table, she smiles.

“So, Captain. What are you doing, since SHIELD is gone?”

Steve waved his hands around.

"This. Am here often. I love it here. It kinda feels like home to me, being here either with my mom when she was working or when I was sick and in here as a patient. I spent a big part of my childhood here and it pulled right back when I left.” He shrugged. “Some of the older nurses here are the only family I have left besides friends I made in SHIELD. Mom died years ago. No boyfriend or girlfriend. Nothing. Just me. And what is the Black Widow up to.”

Natasha smiled at him a bit sadly then she perked up.

“I teach. Like everything really. Combat, weapons. Everything. Clint wants to teach archery but Phil doesn’t think it’s a good idea and I happen to agree.” Steve nodded.

“My friends love the story about the arrow in his butt cheek.” He said seriously, before cracking a smile.

The next time he told the story about meeting the Black Widow was a week later when Phil sat in a bar with them and told them all that, yeah, sadly, all these stories about his husband were true. But he wouldn't change any of it. He loved Clint after all.

In the end, this wasn't the last time he saw Clint in the ER with Natasha and every time they came by, they asked for him. No one else pulled arrows out of Clint's ankle, heel, again the butt cheek and so many other places, sometimes not even listening to the story because he really didn't want to know.

Natasha was with him every time.

One afternoon she sat in the gym, stretching while Bucky was warming up, still getting used to being out of the army and starting to deal with his PTSD with regular exercise. Natasha, being trained in working with PTSD-patients and being in close contact with the VA in New York, was the best who could help him and the one he trusted most with it.

Bucky had come back from combat a few months earlier, granted leave after his Unit had been ambushed and despite nearly losing his arm he was one of the three survivors of his unit. All of them had gone back home, not being able to fight more after losing his sister Rebecca and many of his brothers and sisters in arms in the ambush.

“So. How went your date yesterday?” she called over and he sighed, landing one last punch on the punching bag.

“Didn’t show up.”

“Really?

“Don’t look so surprised. I was glad actually.” Bucky shrugged. “Don’t need any more blind dates. If I want to go on a date it is with someone I met in his natural environment, somewhere where he feels comfortable and not… dunno.” he sighs, then changes the wrappings around his hand and joins Natasha in the fighting area. The red hair nods and purses her lips.

“So not setting you up with my friend then.”

"By friend, you mean Clint and Clint is married." He looks at her and she sighs. She had rather been thinking about Steve, the bisexual single nurse she had met more in the last six months than she ever wanted to meet a nurse. But he was a good guy and they would get along great, she was sure of that.

“Well then. Let’s go. How’ve you been since the last time?”

"Better. It really helps." Bucky replies and gets into a fighting stance. Natasha nodded and licked her lips.

"Then let's go, Barnes. See if you can take me today." She smiled teasingly and he gave a cocky grin.

---

“If we could maybe have Steve?”

“Is that Natasha? What did Clint…” Steve came out of the nurse room and stopped, seeing Natasha propped up against Bucky, not really needing his help but it was part of the plan, so she let it be. “Okay, wait. What did you do? You don’t get hurt.” He said accusingly and she smiled confidently.

“It was Barnes’ fault. He made me lose my weight on the wall. I fell like… could have been two floors. Three? Dunno. Took me by surprise.”

Steve raised an eyebrow, not believing one word she just said. At least about the ‘took me by surprise’ part. The man by his side, Barnes, looked sheepish but not really fooled by it either.

“She insisted we come here and let her ankle get checked instead of just wrapping it up.” He explained and Steve nodded. Extending his hand towards the hallway next to the reception desk, he turned to Natasha with a smile.

“You know the way. The same room as usual. I’ll be right with you.” He went back into the nurse station, gathering some supplies, while Natasha and Bucky walked down the hallway and she sat down on a bed in a room that looked like every other hospital room so far, but there were a few photos on one of the walls.

Bucky went towards them to look at them.

Not photos. Drawings. He studied them and frowned.

“Is that…”

"Clint? Yeah. Some of his rather impressive… incidents." Steve said, entering the room and already pulling a pair of blue gloves over his hands. "And you Miss Romanov. Are you sure you didn't develop a little crush on me? How else should I take that you are back AND demanding for me?" Natasha laughed in delight and it stunned Bucky for a second. He had never heard Natasha laugh for real and it sounded so nice and not at all like the tough woman he had gotten to know. It sounded carefree and honest. Raw.

“You wish Cap. Nothing like that. You know I never want to be there half the time Clint get here and I really don’t want to completely fuck up my ankle. Fury offered me a new job, beginning next year and I’d rather be uninjured by then.” She gave him a smirk and he smiled.

A smile that could light up a whole night if needed.

A smile that could rival the sun and every star known to man.

And Bucky felt enthralled. This was what he had meant, talking to Natasha earlier before she fell. A known environment, something the man he wanted to look at knew. Something that made him relaxed, carefree.

An environment he could be himself. Around people who knew him. Where he didn’t have to be shy and uncertain of what would happen next.

And this was the man, he wanted to ask out.

He stopped. Natasha. He sat down on a chair by the side, watching them bicker while Steve took a closer look at Nat’s ankle and made sure nothing was broken. It had been slightly swollen when they had wrapped it before leaving for the hospital and the swelling had gone back already.

But the reason the redhead had wanted to go to the hospital wasn’t the ankle check. It was the nurse. She wanted him to meet Steve.

“I’ll be back in a minute, getting some balm for the muscles to relax but you are fine. The ‘pain’ if there even is one should be gone by… dinnertime.” Steve said, fixing her with a suspicious look, glanced at Bucky, smiled at the vet and left the room. Natasha looked at him and raised an eyebrow.

“What do you think? You didn’t want me to set you up with him so I had you to meet him like this. Thought it would work. Did it?”

Bucky sighed. Why did she always know what would work? Smirking, she leaned back against the headboard waiting for Steve to come back. When the blond did, she smirked, standing up and taking the balm from his hands. Then she gave him a slip of paper and smiled at him.

"I know you get off shit around 4 today, so both of you, 7 pm at the diner opposite Stark Tower. Tell Peter, the waiter there, it is my treat, he will know. Have a great evening and get to know each other. Have fun. Bye." With that she left the room, leaving the balm on the bed and Bucky looked after her.

Steve was staring at him.

“Did she…”

"Set us up? Yes. Now your next question is probably do I want to?" Bucky took a deep breath and when Steve nodded he decided to go in all or nothing. "The answer is actually, yeah I would like to. But not like… this." He gestured to the door where Nat had disappeared. "Properly. So, Steve, I think. I would like to, maybe, take you out? A date? The diner near Stark Tower, 7 pm? Sounds like something you'd be interested in?" It came out way more confident than Bucky felt but then again, when Natasha tried to set him up with someone, she couldn't be that wrong, could she? They met twice a week for 8 months already after all.

Steve ducked his head, cheeks turning slight reddish.

“Yeah. I’d love to. 7 sounds perfect. Meet you there?” he asked shyly and Bucky smiled, feeling light and yeah. That was how he wanted to go out on dates. No blind dating or something. That. Exactly how it happened right here. Right now. “’s that your number, Bucky?” Steve smiled, holding up the piece of paper with Bucky’s number scribbled on.

Bucky snorted.

“Definitely. You got it from Nat, it will be exactly what it says it is.” Then he walked towards the door, turning to Steve only when he was right next to him.

“See you at seven? Write me before that, so I have your number.” Steve just nodded, dumbfounded and then Bucky was gone.

---

The brunette took the subway, shooting Natasha a text, complaining about not waiting for him to drive him home.

When she replied he knew the thanks were received even if not mentioned.

In his apartment he was rifling through his wardrobe, looking for something presentable and finally settling on a short-sleeved simple black shirt and his grey skinny jeans. The clock showed 5 pm and his phone vibrated, an unknown number showing up on screen, a message and a photo attached to it.

Just got back home. Getting ready now. See you at 7.

The photo showed Brooklyn from an open window and Bucky tilted his head. Then he went to the window in his living room, looking out the window and seeing a window on the opposite of the street open, same height as his. He huffed amused and opened his window as well, snapping a photo from the building, the open window in the middle of the picture.

Me too. See you ;)

Just seconds later, Steve looked out the window of his apartment, gaping at Bucky who just shrugged, telling Steve something along the lines that he hadn’t known either and turned away from the window, walking into his bathroom and closed the door. He heard the phone he had left next to the open window buy, but stripped down instead, getting under the steady stream of the shower.

Showered, his chin long hair still drying and dressed only in his jeans, he went back to the window, taking a look at his phone.

Nurse Steve: Does that mean I can offer you a drive home later?

Bucky: Maybe. Let’s see how it goes. I don’t put out before the second date.

Nurse Steve: What a pity. Here I was hoping me and my bike could convince you…

Bucky: Let me see that bike of yours and I may be inclined to call seeing you from my living room window the first date ;)

Nurse Steve: You won’t be disappointed. See you there? Have to leave now. Bug Tony in giving it back or you won’t get to see it.

Bucky: Yeah. See you later. Be safe.

Taking the subway to Manhattan and getting out at Stark Tower (so creative New York) he entered the diner, seeing Steve immediately, getting pestered by a man, said man actually being Tony Stark. When Steve’s eyes found Bucky, he shoved Tony away, said something to him and waved the vet over. Tony, still standing next to Steve and let his glace travel over Bucky.

“So. You’re Cap’s mystery date.” Bucky raised an eyebrow, quietly challenging Tony to say something and the young genius snorted in delight. “You don’t take shit. I like you.”

"He trains with the Widow. Naturally, he doesn't take shit."

“What can I say. I grew up with four little sisters and you’re not much different from them Stark. And now, if you’d be so kind.” Bucky made a huge gesture towards the door and Tony laughed in delight.

“Bring him on Saturday. The boys will love him. Just looooove him.” Tony hollered and left the diner, winking and waving at them. Steve sighed and gestured to Bucky to sit down.

“Sorry. Hoped I’d be rid of him before you get here.” Steve blushed lightly as Bucky sat down, smiling at him brightly.

“No worries there. It was fun.” Steve smiled bright, eyes lighting up in mischief.

“Yeah. I think he didn’t believe me about how gorgeous my date was.”

Bucky snorted.

"Smooth, Nurse Steve. Are you trying to flirt with me? Because I have to say, it would work better with one of these short nurse outfits. I mean..." Bucky trailed off, Steve bursting out in laughter and the brunette leaned back in his seat, taking in the sight of his date.

"Yeah. But sorry to disappoint. I have kind of a five-date rule for that." He shot back and Bucky snorted.

“Yeah. I had these rules too.” He drawled. “Then they always started to stand me up, so I gave up on that. But see. I know where you live. I can sneak in through your window, kidnap you and tie you to a chair. Then I’d get my fifth date for sure.”

Steve flushed bright red. A sight to see, Bucky thought by himself.

The waiter arrived, Peter as Nat had said, and they ordered, Hamburger and French fries and Bucky ordered a Milkshake, Vanilla, along. It was Natasha’s treat after all. Then Steve leaned forward onto his arms and smiled.

“So. First question. Been bugging me since earlier. Bucky? What name is that?”

Bucky snorted. It was either the first question they had (and it meant they were interested in him) or they never bothered to ask (then they only wanted him for his booty, which was A+ but he had more to offer seriously).

"My parents named me James Buchanan. Bucky had been my childhood nickname, not even my parents calling my Jim or Jimmy and if you do so, I'll throw you out of the window." Bucky warned the blond when his eyes light up mischievously. "My last name is Barnes. Back in the Army, I was always JBB or Bucky. Sometimes Sarge but only when they were drunk.” He concluded and Steve nodded.

“You were in the Army? What happened? I mean… you’re back. And apparently… Nat.” He began to stutter and it made Bucky feel giddy inside. Most only gave him pitying looks or thanked him for his service. Steve, who apparently had worked for SHIELD before, had enough experience of his own apparently not to pity the poor veteran. At least not yet.

“There was an ambush on one of our bases. My sister and I were there with most of our unit. Only I and two others made it out alive. Lost my oldest little sister and nearly my left arm.” He nodded towards the left arm where some of the light scars stood out against his skin.

Steve frowned then murmured “Sorry to hear that. Lost some good men too. Women as well. It is hard to be the only one alive. You said something about more sisters?”

Bucky swallowed. That was the topic he hated talking about. This time though, he kept it short when he explained. Maybe some other day Steve would get the whole story.

“My parents picked them up from school. Someone ran a red light, hit them in the side. Dead on impact. All of them. And please don’t pity me now. I don’t need that. It was bad luck. Faith. Whatever you want to call it. I just…” he started to ramble, nervous playing with his fingers, glance glued to the table until someone pried his hands apart and he looked up into Steve’s gentle eyes.

“Take a deep breath, Buck. I get it. I hate being pitied as well. My mom died when I was eighteen. I am an only child. My dad died back a long time ago, in a war just two months before I was born.” Bucky’s breath evened out and he smiled gently at Steve.

Moving on to less sensitive topics when dinner actually arrived, they bonded really well and then Steve held out his hand towards Bucky.

“I remember I offered you a drive back. She is in the garage in Stark tower. And maybe you could come over to my apartment for breakfast tomorrow around 9? Or is it too forward?”

The vet smiled happily, taking the blonde’s hand and let himself be pulled up, saying goodbye to Peter, the waiter, who confirmed the check would be taken care of (by Miss Romanov or Mister Stark), and let himself be pulled towards the big glass building on the other side of the street and into its underground garage where a beautiful black Harley was waiting for them.

And when Bucky was awake at 7 am, sitting at his open living room window, enjoying the morning sun and the silence like every morning but this time noticing the extremely attractive nurse on the other side of the street, it was just the first of many mornings.

#marvel fanfiction #fanfiction #stucky #steve/bucky #steve x bucky #nurse!steve #Steve Rogers #Bucky Barnes #vet!bucky #Bucky is a vet #natasha romanoff #Tony Stark #Clint Barton #fluff #Clint gets hurt. A lot #no powers au #Marvel

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emily-james-barnes · 8 years ago

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Too Much Trouble

Summary: You get to know your neighbor Frank when he needs help

Pairing: Frank Castle x Reader

Word Count: 3,700 (yikes)

Warnings: mentions of violence, language, injuries, medical procedures, blood, broken bones, difficulty breathing, needles… Frank? Is Frank a warning?

A/N: this is for @atari-writes who’s been nagging me for a Frank fic (jk hun I love you) I really don’t think this is very good… but here it is… (also @deanssweetheart23 because you’re my twin and you read all the things)

You didn’t really know much about your neighbor across the hall.

You knew his name was Frank, and that more often than not he looked like somebody had been using him as a punching bag. Not that you ran into him much. Once in a while you’d see him in the hall or the stairwell, and the two of you would say a quiet hello before moving about your business. He was a quiet neighbor, kept mostly to himself, and only occasionally made a hell of a racket in the hall coming home at an ungodly hour.

Your German shepherd Sam wasn’t too fond of the racket at night, but otherwise he wasn’t particularly wary of Frank. You’d expected him to be more protective of you, since that seemed to be his main purpose in life, growling at anyone dumb enough to get too close. He should have been wary of the hulking man, but for some reason he seemed to like him. He’d wag his tail when the two of you ran into Frank, and more often than not, Frank would glance down at him and you swore something would soften in his hard features. Sometimes you wondered what exactly Frank’s deal was. Maybe he was a professional fighter or something. That would explain all the injuries… but then again, Hell’s kitchen could be a pretty tough place, especially lately. Part of you wanted to leave, to get out of there, away from the violence, but you couldn’t. You could hardly afford your rent, let alone moving again. Being a veterinary student left you with little time and even less money, but somehow you were managing.

Part of you was drawn to Frank, maybe just out of curiosity, or maybe because he seemed so lonely. He never had any company, as far as you could tell, and you never saw him talking to anyone. Maybe that was why Sam would try to say hello to him; he could sense that Frank needed somebody. But you couldn’t work up the courage to say anything other than a casual greeting. You were someone that played things safe, and in hell’s kitchen, that mostly meant keeping to yourself.

The wide-eyed girl across the hall had caught Frank’s attention almost immediately. It wasn’t that he was interested, even though his eyes would wander down to her ass when she walked by. He just wanted to know who was living so close to him. However, it only took a few brief encounters to know that she wasn’t a threat to anybody. That dog might have been, but he never even blinked an eye at Frank. Useless animal. What was the point of a dog like that if it wasn’t going to protect her?

Within a few weeks, Frank had her schedule down pretty well. Lying awake during the day when he should have been sleeping, he could easily hear her coming and going, almost always with the dog on her heels. She went running early in the morning, spent an hour presumably getting ready for work, and then left again. By the time she came home in the evening, her footsteps were heavier, clearly indicating her exhaustion. Whatever she did, she worked hard. She drove an old beat up jeep, did her laundry on Saturday nights, and went grocery shopping on Sundays. Despite knowing her schedule, Frank found himself running into her sometimes in the hall or on the stairs. She would say a quiet hello, making an obvious effort not to stare at the newest bruises or cuts that were visible on his face or hands, and keeping the dog on a tight leash like she was afraid it might attack him. Frank wished it would. At least then she’d have somebody looking out for her, trying to protect her. And god knew she needed that living near him.

He considered moving again, but it would be a hassle, and he’d just gotten used to the place. As far as he knew, it was still safe. No one had figured out where he lived yet, and he was careful to keep it that way. Unfortunately, things didn’t always go as planned on his evening excursions…

You were coming home from a graveyard shift at the vet clinic when San nearly jerked your arm off.

“Sam!” You scolded, but he was too busy physically dragging you across the sidewalk to pay any attention. You didn’t know what the hell had gotten into him. He was well trained and almost never pulled on his leash, but there he was, yanking you along to a spot just outside your building. When he looked up at you and whined, you knew something must be wrong. “What’s going on, bud?” You asked quietly, glancing around in concern. In that neighborhood, you never knew what kind of trouble might pop up, and it was three in the morning, a dangerous time in any area. But Sam wasn’t growling, his hair wasn’t standing on end like it did when he was getting riled up. He looked concerned if that was possible, and as he turned towards the alley, something made you let go of the leash. “Find it,” you whispered, and your dog darted off into the shadows. You hovered nervously near the front of the building, staying under the streetlight, waiting for Sam to return.

But then he barked.

“Shit…” you muttered, pulling out your phone and turning on the flashlight. “Sam!” You hissed, stepping into the alley and glancing around warily. What the hell could he have found? Another soft whine alerted you to his presence nearby, along the wall. “Holy shit. Frank?” You asked, alarmed. Your neighbor was slumped against the brick wall, one arm wrapped around himself. He looked like hell. His face was all smashed up, he was covered in bruises and blood, and one of his eyes was swollen shut. The other one squinted in the bright LED light from your phone, and you quickly lowered it.

“What are you doin out here, sweetheart? Don’t you know what time it is?” He wheezed, the sound of his voice only making you more concerned. What the hell had happened to him? And why was he in the alley?

“Really, that’s your question?” You asked, kneeling beside him and patting Sam on the head. Your dog was sitting right next to Frank like he was intent on keeping him safe. “I need to call you an ambulance…”

“No!” Frank said urgently, his free hand swatting at your phone but missing, “don’t call the police.”

“Frank you need a doctor-”

“I said no.” You scowled at him, slowly putting the pieces together. Frank seriously looked like he’d been hit by a truck, dropped out of a window and then beaten to a pulp. He was hiding in the alley next to the building, or that was as far as he’d been able to make it in his condition. And he refused to go to a hospital or get the police involved in any way. This really couldn’t be good. There was every indication that Frank was serious trouble. Too much trouble. But he was in trouble. His color was bad from what little clear skin you could see, and there was blood on the hand pressed against his side. Not to mention you were pretty sure that you’d have to physically drag Sam away from him if you tried to leave. And your parents had raised you to be a decent human being.

“Can you stand up? We should at least get you inside,” you said, changing tactics. Frank grunted and staggered to his feet, trying to wave you off. But he stumbled and you ducked under one of his arms, pulling it across your shoulders to give him some stability. The stairs were a trial and a half, since Frank could hardly lift his feet and he weighed half a ton, but finally the three of you arrived on your floor. That was when he decided to pass out. “Fuck!” You yelped as he suddenly became dead weight, doing your best not to let him completely crash to the floor. Sam whined as you looked down at the unconscious Frank and sighed. You certainly couldn’t leave him there, either. God damn…

A few hours later, you collapsed onto your bed with a soft groan, completely exhausted. You were pretty sure Frank wasn’t going to die. In fact, he better not die after all the work you’d just done. He was currently on your couch, still unconscious despite the pain you must have caused while patching him up. You’d set his broken nose the best you could and stitched up several different lacerations, including the nasty gash in his side. After dealing with the worst of his injuries, you’d cleaned up as much of the blood as you could, locating a number of smaller cuts that you’d missed before. Then you’d glued those together, Sam watching diligently the entire time.

You weren’t exactly sure what Frank’s plan had been, coming home so brutally injured. If you hadn’t found him, he might have died out there. And he was really lucky you had medical knowledge. Granted, you were used to working on animals, but people were similar enough that you were moderately confident doing a quick patch job.

You flinched as Sam jumped up onto the bed, startling you. He whined, giving you a worried look before scampering back into the next room. That couldn’t be good.

“Where are you going?” You asked, stopping Frank in his tracks. He was almost to the front door, his back to you, but slowly he turned. The sight of his mashed up face made you wince a little even though you’d just finished stitching him up.

“Home,” he grunted, turning away from you again.

“I don’t think so,” you said sharply, stepping past him to stand in front of the door, effectively blocking the only exit, “not until you explain.” It sort of terrified you to stand there staring up at Frank’s stony expression, waiting for him to speak or shove you out of the way.

“A question for a question,” he offered, his voice a low rumble.

“Fine. What the hell happened to you?” You demanded, making him sigh and return to the couch.

“Got beat up. How’d you do all this?” He asked, obviously referring to all the stitches. You were annoyed about the lack of information but technically he’d answered you.

“I’m a vet student,” you replied, crossing your arms, “why no cops?”

“Pick a different question.”

“No.”

“I’m not answering that.”

“Then I’m not moving,” you said firmly, leaning back against the door. “I just dragged your sorry ass up here and used half my emergency supplies to patch you up. Not to mention you got blood everywhere. I think I deserve some information.”

“You don’t want that information.”

“Try me.”

“Sweetheart.”

“Frank.”

He should have left. He should have pushed her aside and left. Left her apartment, the building, maybe even the city.

But something about the way she was looking at him without any fear in her eyes… The way she’d taken care of him, patched him up.

Something made him tell her.

At first Frank hoped he’d scare her off. But then he found himself telling half-truths. Revealing just enough to give her the information she wanted but not enough to put her in danger. Maybe not enough to terrify her.

And she didn’t run.

The color drained out of her face and she sat down rather hard on the couch he’d just hauled himself off of. But otherwise she didn’t react. All she said was “okay.” And when Frank went to leave, she called after him that she didn’t want to have to fix him up again, but that it had been good practice.

That made Frank chuckle a little, but his smile faded quickly when the movement hurt his face. It was a sharp reminder of who and what he was, that he had no business talking to that girl, thinking about her long after he was collapsed in his own bed. He was dangerous, a threat to not just her, but everyone around him. So Frank stayed away from her. He became more careful about his coming and going, sure to avoid being out and about when she was.

He should have known that couldn’t last.

You jolted awake with a start, eyes flicking over to where Sam was lying on the bed beside you. His head was raised, ears pricked towards the hall. A dull thud made you jump, and Sam hopped off the bed, padding out into the main room. You followed him slowly, peeking around the corner. Sam didn’t seem upset, and he wasn’t growling or barking, but you never knew what could be happening. Another thud made you flinch, revealing the source of the noise to be your front door. What the hell?

You crept over to the door, standing on your toes to look out the peep hole, swearing as you realized who it was.

“Jesus Christ, Frank!” You gasped, unlocking and ripping the door open. You hadn’t seen him since that night you’d found him in the alley, which would have worried you if you hadn’t heard him thumping up or down the stairs every now and then. Even though you knew he was safe, it sort of upset you that he was avoiding you. Maybe he was worried you’d talk to the police about him, tell someone about his suspicious behavior. The thought hurt, especially because you’d been unable to get him off your mind despite knowing he was an incredibly dangerous person to be around. Something about him had snagged your attention. He was quiet and strong and seemed to like Sam, and despite the trouble he got himself involved in on a regular basis, you were quickly falling for your mysterious neighbor. You knew he didn’t think of himself as a hero, but what he did… the man fought criminals. It wasn’t legal in the slightest. The punisher was brutally efficient and he killed people, but he was working for the greater good.

And it looked like he’d gotten himself in over his head this time.

Frank staggered forward into the apartment since he had been leaning on the door, and you quickly moved to catch him, barely managing to keep him upright. He was breathing loudly but shallowly, his right hand pressed over his left shoulder and he was covered in blood. You were astounded he’d made it all the way up three flights of stairs. “What the hell happened to you?” You asked, kicking the door shut behind him and leading him into the kitchen. He didn’t answer, grunting as you forced him to lie down on the table and swearing when the movement pulled at his countless wounds. “Frank I need to know what happened,” you insisted, snatching your med kit off the counter and pulling out a stethoscope. His breathing was ragged and raspy and sounded strained, and despite all the blood, that was your main concern.

“Shot,” he wheezed, making you glance at his shoulder in alarm, “hit by a truck.”

Well at least that explained it. Working quickly, you listened to his breathing, moving the stethoscope from one side of his chest to the other. And what you heard wasn’t good at all.

“Traumatic pneumothorax…” you muttered, dropping the instrument to hang across your shoulders.

“What?” Frank gasped.

“You’ve got a punctured lung, Frank.”

“Well… Un-puncture it…”

“I’ve never done that before,” you said, “and I work on animals, not people. You need to go to the hospital.”

“No,” Frank growled, making you roll your eyes. The man was ridiculous. With a frustrated sigh, you ripped open his jacket and prodded along his chest, looking for-

“Fucking shit!” Frank exclaimed as you found his broken ribs, jerking up off the table. You shoved him back down onto the hard surface with a scowl, digging through your bag.

“Frank, you broke at least a couple ribs. There’s air in your chest cavity and it’s pressing on your lung, keeping it from expanding. I’d have to get this,” you said, holding up the biggest syringe you had, “between your ribs and into your chest cavity without hitting anything important. That will let the air out, but even then, your lung might be too damaged and it might not work.”

“Do it.”

“I could kill you, Frank.”

“You wouldn’t do a thing like that,” he wheezed, giving you a little grin and making you sigh.

“It’s gonna hurt.”

“Everything hurts.”

“You’re insane, you know that?” You asked, counting along his ribs. You were pretty sure you were supposed to go between the second and third one… pretty sure. And you’d have to practically punch the needle into him to get it through the skin and muscle… fuck you might actually kill him. But the collapsed lung would kill him too. “You ready?” You asked, glancing at Frank, who nodded, and then down at Sam, who was sitting at your feet, watching you both carefully. Well, it was now or never, and if you didn’t do it quickly, you knew you’d never build up the courage. After a deep breath, you lined up the needle, and with a hard jerk of your arm, stabbed it into Frank’s chest.

Frank gasped and snarled, but there was a sharp hiss of air through the needle and out the open end of the syringe. After a long moment, it seemed that you’d gotten it all, and you withdrew the needle. Frank grunted, but he took a deep experimental breath, wincing slightly.

“Feel better?” You asked, exchanging the needle in your hands for the stethoscope again.

“Yeah,” Frank grunted, sitting up with another hiss of pain. He held still as you listened to both sides of his chest again, and then his back, trying not to think about how muscled he was.

“It sounds better,” you murmured, “Not normal, but I doubt they’re ever normal with all the shit you put your body through.” That got you another grunt of agreement, and Frank moved like he was going to stand up. “Hey. Nuh uh. Where are you going?” You asked, standing between his knees and pushing against his good shoulder.

“Home. I can breathe now, thanks,” he grumbled, looking past you towards the door.

“Not until I check out that gunshot wound,” you said firmly, prying his fingers away from it. Frank muttered something that sounded a lot like “crazy-ass woman,” but you ignored him, peering at his injury. The bleeding had slowed, but the wound was still open, which was a problem.

“Looks like it just grazed you,” you said, peeling at the blood-soaked tatters of his shirt.

“Oh yeah? You ever been ‘just grazed’ by a bullet there sweetheart? Didn’t think so. Now quit touchin it, that hurts,” Frank snapped, but you didn’t move, didn’t flinch at his harsh tone. In fact you were pretty unfazed. He was a lot like that snarling pit bull from last week that came in after being attacked by another dog. You smiled a little at the thought of Frank as a pit bull.

“Take off your shirt,” you ordered, moving back slightly to allow him room to move. Frank sat there glowering at you for a long moment. “Frank I need to clean and bandage that. Take off the shirt or I’ll cut it off.”

“Jesus… Fine…” he muttered, wincing as he shrugged off his jacket. He grabbed the hem of the shirt with his good hand, yanking it up towards his head. But with the gunshot wound and the broken ribs, he had a limited range of motion and quickly got stuck. You reached out with gentle fingers to help him get the fabric over his head and then down his arms. Frank’s dark eyes were locked on you as you leaned in close and began working. He didn’t complain and only hissed once when you applied the antiseptic, and soon you felt your cheeks growing hot. Frank was entirely muscle- chiseled chest, washboard abs and broad shoulders, and he was so close to you, so warm beneath your fingers.

Finally you finished, tying off the bandage and taking a step back. Frank’s right arm caught you, keeping you close, standing there between his legs. You looked up at him to find his gaze smoldering and intense. Without any warning he leaned in and kissed you, his mouth oddly gentle against yours. His right hand splayed across the small of your back, pressing you closer. You were a little afraid to touch him, but his neck seemed unhurt so you put one hand there to ground yourself. Frank grunted as he moved his left hand up to cup the side of your face, his tongue darting out to run along your lower lip. But before you could let him in, he was pulling away, eyes even darker than usual.

“Thanks,” he said simply, making you smile a little.

“You know you don’t have to nearly get yourself killed just to see me,” you said lightly, trying to tease him despite your rapid heartbeat. Slowly you eased yourself forward to rest your hands on his chest, which seemed moderately safe.

“Easier n sayin hello,” Frank mumbled, looking away like he was embarrassed.

“You know… It would be best if you stayed here for a little while. For observation.”

“Oh yeah?” Frank asked, the tiniest bit of hope leaking into his voice as his eyes flicked down to your lips again.

“Definitely,” you said quietly, “wouldn’t want you to bleed out just across the hall.”

“Then I guess I’m stayin.”

#frank castle x reader #the punisher #the punisher x reader #frank castle #amber here's your murder husband #where's my super soldier husband

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