"Hello? Hello, is anyone there? Anyone? Anyone?"
Peter heard that incessant praying again, but he really had no time to deal with it right now, because Bruce was injured again. Peter was busy wondering what kind of fierce battle could leave a wound specifically on the inner root of his thigh.
That area was rather sensitive. Peter had to be especially careful while bandaging Bruce, or Bruce might permanently lose a bullet.
After several attempts, Peter finally admitted that there was still quite a gap between him and a professional surgeon. He sighed and said, "Man, this won't work. I'm afraid you need to go to the hospital. I really can't guarantee this. It's not that I can't just make do, but..."
Peter's expression changed several times, and Bruce understood what he meant. He sighed deeply to himself as well. There was definitely something wrong with the damn perfume that female agent Natasha had sprayed on, and the old saying was right: the prettier the woman, the deadlier she was.
Of course, he and Natasha had not actually done anything up in the air, but during that kind of vigorous activity, even merely reaching out to take advantage could easily lead to nasty consequences from a single jolt. The wound on his leg was the result.
Natasha had not attacked him on purpose. It was just that, while touching his thigh, a skewer of candied hawthorn happened to crash into the building, and Natasha's sharp nails dug into the flesh beside Bruce's ammunition pouch.
The wound was not very deep, and it did not actually hurt that much. The troublesome part was that it was in an awkward spot, and the cleaning and disinfecting hurt badly enough to make Bruce want to die.
The two of them stared at each