Chapter Text
The sudden pain that rips through her abdomen takes her off guard. Grimacing as the warm, sticky feeling of blood seeps down her skin and into her clothes, America throws a weak spell at the stupid murderous creature that was currently after her. It’s a big, ugly thing and she hates it, especially since it currently has its incredibly sharp tentacle-like limb buried just beneath her rib cage. America curses between her teeth, voice escalating into a shout of pain as the limb twists further into her flesh.
Abandoning her hopes with magic, she closes her hands around the tentacle thing and yanks hopelessly. Swallowing hard, America twists her head, desperately searching for Stephen. The last she’d seen of the sorcerer had been early on in their mission when hoards of these dumb things had driven them apart. Unfortunately for her, he was still missing and the pain in her stomach was quickly going from ‘I can ignore this’ to ‘I think I might be on fire and slowly scorching to death’.
“Stephen!” America shouts, unable to mask the edge of desperation in her voice.
As the last syllable of his name leaves her mouth, there is a furious blaze of orange magic that shoots over her head and straight into the creature trying to rip her insides apart, leaving several holes in its body. The tentacle stabbing her retreats painfully from her abdomen with a disgusting squelch noise before landing limply on the ground, the end bright crimson with her blood.
America wants to vomit. Gross.
Blood flows freely from the wound now, staining the shirt under her jean jacket red. Her hands hover dumbly above the wound, fingers trembling. Whimpering, she staggers forwards and trips, head swimming. Her knees tremble, buckling as she heads towards the ground.
Before she could face plant into the grimy dirt below her, sure hands catch her, gently guiding her upright. America’s back meets a tall, firm body and out of the corner of her eye, she spots a familiar flash of red.
“Easy, kid. I’ve got you,” Stephen’s voice rumbles quietly in her ear, arms steadying her wobbling frame.
America flinches as his hand presses hard against the gaping hole in her lower abdomen, the pain radiating outwards from the injury.
“Owww,” she slurs.
“Sorry,” Stephen says, “I’ve got to stop the bleeding.”
She doesn’t miss the layer of worry in his otherwise calm tone. The Cloak brings one of its corners up to flutter fretfully against her elbow. America reaches for it, catching its soft fabric between her fingers, rubbing. Stephen is wrapping something around her body and America lazily lets her head fall to watch as he ties a knot, then pulls it tight.
America moans miserably, the tight pressure on the wound doing nothing to help her pain. Her body tremors, knees weak and halfway to buckling. She’s sure that she’d be facedown in the dirt right now if not for Stephen’s steady hands keeping her upright.
“I’m going to die,” America groans.
“No you’re not,” Stephen says, and the matter-of-fact tone of his voice does make her feel a little better. “We are going to bring you to a hospital and get you patched up.”
America nods, grunting in surprise when she’s suddenly scooped off her feet. Her eyes catch on a familiar glowing, golden circle and blinks lazily. When had Stephen done that?
She doesn’t get to dwell on the thought for long as Stephen begins to walk, and she promptly passes out.
America is woken by a persistent, annoying beeping coming from somewhere above her head. She groans groggily, opening her eyes into a squint. Her brain feels like it is made of mush and weighted down, her thoughts foggy and slow.
“Ugh,” she utters aloud, more of a sound than a word. Her hand comes to her face, rubbing at her eyes until her vision clears a little more and she could tip her head to the side.
To America’s surprise, Stephen is seated beside her, asleep. His feet are kicked up, propped against the bottom edge of her bed, clad in black hightops. In fact, the whole sorcerer get-up is gone, replaced by simple jeans and a t-shirt. America stares at him for a moment, astonished.
Finally, she clears her throat and speaks. “Stephen?”
America cringes at the sound of her own voice, rough and thin. It does the job though, because Stephen’s eyes shoot open, landing on her right away. For a moment, he looks surprised, but the expression quickly fades into one of relief.
“Hey,” Stephen says, standing up to move closer to her bedside. America watches his eyes dart to the monitor above her head, his eyebrows furrowing as he analyzes whatever data was displayed there. “How are you feeling?”
Apparently satisfied with the numbers he sees, Stephen’s gaze shifts back to her.
“Tired,” America admits, “...and like my brain’s been melted.”
Stephen’s mouth curls slightly in a smile. “That would be the morphine. No pain?”
America shakes her head. Her whole body felt kind of like it was floating, actually. It was a nice contrast to the pain of being stabbed. “No. Did I have to have surgery?”
Stephen nods. “Yes, but it was relatively minor, all things considered. All they did was clean the wound out and stitch you up.”
“So I’m not going to die,” America states, and Stephen chuckles.
“No, you are not going to die. I already told you that.”
“Well, forgive me for being nervous after getting impaled by a weird alien monster’s tentacle,” America sniffs, glaring at him.
Stephen chuckles, though his expression dims slightly. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice sooner.”
“It’s okay,” America reassures him, “You did kind of save my life, so I think I can forgive you.”
Stephen smiles again, relief lurking beneath the amusement in his eyes. He hesitates for a moment, then reaches over to pat America’s hand where it rests at her side. “I’m glad you’re okay, kid.”
America gives him a broad smile, and turns her hand so she can trap Stephen’s hand before he pulls it away. She squeezes gently, reassured by that point of contact. “Yeah, me too. When can I go home?”
Stephen’s eyes snap away from where their hands are conjoined. “Uh…probably in a couple days. They’ll want to make sure that nothing gets infected. I don’t think it will, but doctors are finicky about that kind of thing.”
America rolls her eyes. “You’re a doctor. Can’t you tell them I’m good to go, or something?”
“Unfortunately for you,” Stephen says, “I was a brain guy, not a guts guy. And my license is long expired.”
America sighs, flopping her head back against her pillows. “I’m going to be bored.”
“Hey! I’m still gonna to be here,” Stephen says, scowling at her. “I’m great company.”
America gives him a sidelong look, which only deepens Stephen’s scowl and makes her grin.
Stephen’s offended expression quickly falters and he rolls his eyes, though the action is softened by the amused smile tugging at his mouth when he mutters, “Ass.”
America opens her mouth to continue the bickering, but is interrupted by the massive yawn that overtakes her instead. She is really tired.
Stephen removes his hand from hers and squeezes her forearm instead. “Go back to sleep, kid. The more you rest, the sooner you’ll heal.”
“Hypocrite,” America mumbles, though her eyes are already drifting shut. She catches Stephen smiling and shaking his head before her eyes shut completely, and she goes out like a light.