Day 28

Alternate Prompt #4

Stitches

"That's definitely going to need stitches."

Tony stared down blankly at the blood that covered the inside of his forearm. His whole arm was throbbing and his head was swimming dizzily. He was also trying to subtly swallow the urge to vomit.

It was supposed to be an easy mission. But when had that ever worked out? Steve, Natasha, Tony and Clint had gone on a mission just to gather information. But it had all gone to shit, leading to a hard fought battle that none of them had been prepared for. They had won, but it had been a difficult win. They had each taken pretty hard beatings, all of them sporting various cuts and bruises.

It seemed that Tony had gotten the worst of it, a hunting knife slicing open his arm while he had still been scrambling to call his armor.

"Tony? Did you hear me?" Tony blinked up at Natasha. They were back in the Quinjet now and heading home, but it would still be several hours. Tony was sitting sideways on a cot with his legs hanging over the edge, Natasha sitting on a chair in front of him and had undone the pressure bandage so she could check the wound. "We need to stitch this up to help stop the bleeding. And maybe get you a transfusion, just to be on the safe side."

"How?" Tony mumbled. "Bruce isn't here."

"Clint?" Natasha suddenly called over her shoulder toward the cockpit where Clint was in the pilot's seat. He glanced back at her at the sound of his name. "Do you feel up to doing some stitches?"

"Barton?" Tony found himself scoffing instinctually. The guy was a master sniper, but he wasn't exactly who you thought of when it came to medical procedures.

"Sure," Clint said, hitting a few buttons on the console before heavily pushing himself to hit feet. "Steve? Can you pilot?"

"Yeah, no problem," Steve said, heading to take Clint's place in the pilot seat.

"You're kidding me, right?" Tony insisted, sitting up a bit as Clint headed toward them, a slight limp in his gait.

"Clint's got plenty of experience with stitches," Natasha assured him. "And his hands are steadier than a surgeon's."

"I'm pretty sure I'm out of network for your insurance though," Clint said with a cheeky smile as he pulled up a stool in front of Tony. "So be forewarned, I'm going to bill your HMO an arm and a leg."

"I'll be fine until we get home to Bruce," Tony said as he eyed Clint warily.

"Tony, you're still actively losing blood," Natasha said, a note of scolding in her voice. "We need to get that under control before we can give you a transfusion. And judging by how pale you are, you need one."

Tony's gaze drifted back and forth between Natasha - who was now setting up the equipment for stitches on the cot next to where he sat - and Clint. "And where exactly did you two get your medical degree?"

"SHIELD University," Clint said matter-of-factly, even though Tony knew there was no such thing. "We both got degrees in Don't Die In The Field-ology."

Tony didn't laugh though as he stared at the wicked looking tools Natasha had laid out. It was a very little known fact that he hated any kind of medical procedure. Tony was a bit of a control freak - blame his upbringing - and anything that was taken out of his control made his heart race and his breath catch in his throat.

"But seriously," Tony said, hating the way his voice sounded small and unsteady all of a sudden. His eyes were still pinned on the medical equipment. "You know what you're doing?"

A gentle hand on his knee had Tony shifting his gaze back to Clint. Clint was looking at him with a soft sympathy in his eyes. "I promise you," he said sincerely, "I know what I'm doing."

Tony took a deep breath and finally nodded his consent.

Clint pulled on a pair of surgical gloves before he grabbed a wipe in order to clean the wound. Tony winced as the disinfecting alcohol stung. Then Clint sprayed the area with a localized numbing spray. It would help, even if it wouldn't take away all the pain.

"Okay, I think we're going to do four stitches," Clint said briskly as he started to get his needle loaded into a pair of forceps. "Maybe five. We'll see how it goes." He looked up at Tony and met his eyes. Clint's calm, blue gaze had a comforting affect, and Tony felt himself relax slightly. "Are you ready?"

Tony nodded stoically. "Let's get this over with."

"I like the enthusiasm," Clint teased lightly. "You're not gonna look down, okay, you're gonna look at me or Natasha." Tony nodded, focusing on the top of Clint's head as he leaned over Tony's arm. "Okay, here we go. Gonna feel some pressure and a poke." Tony winced slightly as the needle pierced his skin. "And now another poke." Tony winced and twitched a bit as this one stung a little more. "Now I'm gonna tie it. You'll feel a tug. Okay, and another tie to make sure it stays in place. And another tug. Annnnnnd there we go! One down! Not so bad, right?"

Tony blinked in surprise. "That was fast."

"I have some pretty good dexterity," Clint said with a smile as she started to load the next piece of surgical thread into the needle. "Something about practicing archery for the last three decades I guess. Okay, ready for stitch number two?"

Clint continued to narrate his every move as he worked, and Tony found that it was like a balm to his frayed nerves. He ended up needing five stitches, but with how quickly that Clint worked it was finished in a matter of minutes."

"And done!" Clint finally announced triumphantly.

Tony blinked in surprise. He finally risked a look down at his arm, spotting the five neat little stitches perfectly in a row.

"Wow," Tony said, his eyebrow arching up in surprise.

"Not bad, right?" Clint said with a smile.

"No, it's not," Tony said. Then he tentatively returned the smile. "Maybe I'll have you do my stitches from now on instead of Bruce."

Clint chuckled. "Wait until you get my bill before you make that call. Alright, I'm going to make sure Steve's not flying us into any icebergs." He stood up and limped back up to the cockpit.

"I'll get you set up with a transfusion," Natasha said. "Thankfully, Bruce is very organized and keeps the jet well stocked with specific inventory for each of us. Sit tight, I'll be right back."

"Yeah, thanks," Tony said as he let out a sigh and leaned back against the wall behind him.

It had been a long and terrible day. But any day that ended with the support of his friends was a win in Tony's book.