[I really like adding small little references from different fandoms that I love, so try to catch them in the chapters? Let's make it some sort of game, yeah?]

(Y/n)'s a highly skilled agent. Everyone on the team knows it, everyone at the Avengers hq. So when a she gets shot, no one knows how to react as she goes down.
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It's weird, seeing all the Avengers crowded in one waiting room. But they had to stop at the nearest hospital because (Y/n) was bleeding out.

A doctor enters the room, looking at them warily as he holds up a clipboard. Pietro rushes to a halt from his rapid pacing, bouncing on the balls of his feet nervously.

"Is she okay? Is (Y/n) okay? CanIseeher?"

"Pietro," Wanda calmly holds up a hand and he huffs. "Like my brother said, is she okay?"

He takes a deep breath, and Steve knows that look. It's the same look people had in their eyes when they told him that they're sorry his loss when his mother and Bucky died.

"She isn't dead," Steve blurts, clenching his hands together because no, he will not lose one of his friends again.

"No," the doctor says, and everyone lets out a relieved breath. But he shakes his head and continues. "Though the bullet, if it had been merely two inches to the left, it would've missed her spine."

And then they're back to panicking, faces full of alarm.

"What does that mean?" Pietro asks, trying to stop his hands from shaking so he stuffs them under his arms.

"What I'm saying, is that the bullet shattered part of her spin. She's paralyzed from the waist down."

No one speaks, no one moves.

"Can we see her?" Natasha asks after a minuet, unreadable as she steps forward. "Is that possible?"

He shakes his head. "I'm sorry, but she's asked to be left alone for now."

"So I guess she's off the team," Tony says once the doctors left.

Pietro surges forward, suddenly angry at Tony. "No, she is not."

"Pietro," Wanda murmurs, pulling him into a hug and he sniffles against her shoulder.

"Don't you have some sort of machine that'll help her? Make her walk again?" Clint asks, fumbling with a small arrow between his sweaty hands. "I mean, Dr. Cho grew back my skin, right? So wouldn't you be able to-"

"No," Tony sighs, rubs his temples. "Bruce and Dr. Cho hadn't even started in bone regrowth. At least, not yet."

"Then call her. Ask if it's possible," Steve demands, crossing his arms. "We have to do something."

An uncountable amount of coffee, many phone calls, not once ounce of sleep, and ten hours later, the Avengers are back at the Tower. They don't know what to do with (Y/n)'s uniforms, her equipment, her room.

"We should keep it," Pietro finally says. "In case Dr. Cho does come up with a solution to (Y/n)'s problem." Hearing her name, they look towards the floor and keep their eyes there until Tony's phone rings.

He picks it up, murmuring "yes," and "yeah, that's my name," and "yes?" then a particularly loud "what?" He ends the call, shoulders falling and then it's like everyone knows.

"She died," Natasha says, turns without another word and disappears down the hall.

And then everyone looses it. Steve punches a wall, Pietro runs away, the objects near Wanda splinter together, Clint just stands there.

They'll have to get rid of her stuff after all.
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You remember the day at the hospital after the bullet incident like it had was yesterday. You had felt so powerless, useless, without your legs. But then a nurse had enters the room, locked the door, told you that her name was Fish, and that she could make you walk again.

"What's the catch?" You had asked, ready to agree to anything despite her answer.

Her two toned dance with excitement. "Swear your loyalty to HYDRA and it's all yours,"

And now your here, stronger, better, faster. Your memories a little fuzzy as to how you had gotten shot, but you were informed that the Avengers had been responsible. That a man called Quicksilver had shot you.

You didn't question what they had told you until you had encountered him. He doesn't carry a gun, or any weapons.

And when he saw you, he tripped over his feet and went flying. You don't know why you had directed him away from the ledge leading to an abyss of sharp rocks and certain death, or why you crouched down next to him with his eyes following your every move.

And you don't know why you hugged him, whispered "it's your fault," into his ear, and disappeared into the shadows.