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Five Times Bruce Banner Played Doctor

800 | Avengers gen, Bruce/Clint | PG-13 (KB: medical kink)


“Hey, Doc,” Tony says from the door. He’s disheveled, t-shirt scorched. His face is covered in ash. “Do you think you could take a look at my hand?”

Tony holds out his left hand, and there’s a welt across the skin, a burn by the fingers. It looks worse that it probably is, black engine grease around the wound. Bruce frowns and pulls the lighted magnifying glass (“All Stark labs come with them, physicists or not, Banner. You never know when you’ll need it.”) so he can look at the burn.

“You probably should go to a doctor for this,” Bruce says.

Tony walks over to the sink and pulls out a first aid kit. “You’re a doctor. I’m seeing you.”

Bruce frowns, but he takes the kit, opening it up. “I’m not that kind of doctor,” he says.

Tony grins. “You’re closer to it than I am. Besides, I like your bedside manner.” He wiggles his fingers on his injured hand. “And it’s just a little burn.”


Clint is nearly killed when he falls off a building, and the suit is welded onto Tony thanks to a very creative henchmen with a flamethrower and a magnet.

Bruce comes down from the Other Guy. There is usually a pair of sweats or at least a blanket for him, and he’s not surprised to see Thor with it. Thor rarely needs checked out by medical. Super thick Asgardian skin, advanced armor, and all.

Except when he gives Bruce his sweats, there are pieces of glass in his skin. He’s bleeding freely and doesn’t seem particularly worried.

“Are you okay?” Bruce asks, pulling up his sweats. “Your arms...”

“There are a limited amount of healers, and your archer and Stark require them.” Thor shrugs. “They shall get to me when there is time.”

Bruce frowns, touching one of the wounds carefully. One of the nice things about his condition is that he doesn’t have to worry about bloodborne pathogens (not that Thor has any that could affect humans). “I can probably get these out for you. I’ll need some tweezers from the med staff, but this would be an easy fix.”

Thor grins. “Our friend Stark said this would be in your medical expertise.”

Bruce rolls his eyes. He knows when he’s been had.


Natasha hands him needle and floss from her belt. “Sew it up.” The room is dark, small, and she rips the flashlight from him. They can hear the fight, but there isn’t room for the Other Guy

Hydra made sure of that.

Her arm looks like it’s nearly split open. “I don’t think this will help.”

“Do the best you can. When we get home, I’ll get someone else to fix it so I don’t lose it. We need to get in there.” She swallows. “I can’t sew my right arm, Banner.”

He sighs and threads the needle.


Steve doesn’t poke around the labs much. He knows more about science and computers than he lets on, but in general they bore him.

Bruce likes him around though. He doesn’t focus on it much anymore, not since the accident, but he used to be fascinated with Erksine’s work. And Steve is the embodiment of it, moving around and poking at things in Bruce’s lab.

“So, are you a real doctor or is that Tony?” he asks one day, when Bruce is trying to decipher why an experiment went awry in simulation.

“That’s all Tony. I’ve got PhDs, but no MDs. I think Tony watches too many damned TV shows.” Bruce looks at Steve, at the thoughtful look on Steve’s face. “Why?”

Steve shrugs. “Just curious. I like knowing what doctors are around. It’s a habit, from... before. I’m not sure I’ll ever believe that this won’t go away.” He presses a hand to his chest, like that will illustrate his point. And it does.

“I’ve studied Erksine’s papers, what survived. I don’t think you have to worry about regressing, unless someone can make an antidote to the serum and convince you to soak with it in vita-rays.”

Steve laughs, shaking his head. “No, just. It’s still hard to believe I’ll never have pneumonia again, or that I can be stung by a bee and not worry that this will be the time that will kill me.”

Bruce nods and pulls out his first aid kit. He’s taken to just keeping it under his counter, with as many times Tony comes down stairs. “I have epi-pens, if you redevelop a bee allergy, Steve. I can be doctor enough to give you one of those.”

Steve’s smile grows impossibly wide. “Thanks, Doc.”


He snaps on the neoprene gloves, watching Clint’s face. They’ve talked about this, discussed what will and won’t work for both of them, and still his heart is pounding. He picks up pinwheel, and Clint’s breathing picks up, just a bit.

Bruce thinks maybe next time they should borrow a heart monitor. He has one in his lab, after all. Can’t be too prepared.

He lets the pinwheel hover over Clint’s nipple. “This won’t hurt a bit,” he says, letting Clint see the turn to his lips before he pressed the metal down.
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June 2013

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