engine 26 -- roosevelt ER
[Mikey had a litany of bumps and bruises -- he'd been in one of the staircases when it had collapsed -- and fuck he was sure he'd dislocated a shoulder. Or broke it. Or something. All he knew was that by the time he'd reached Clem up on the sixth floor to evacuate everyone else, his right arm hung limp next to him, his mask was shattered, and that grazed wound was bleeding profusely. Just another day on the job. Minus the whole working with superheroes to save Tony Stark's tower. Holy shit.
Perched atop a stretcher in the hallway, he allowed the nurse and PA to look him over without little fussing. Maybe a pout here and there, or a hiss of pain when they knead into a bruise. And yes, something was wrong with his shoulder, and they would need to do an x-ray to be sure. Grumbling, in his sweat-soaked shirt and blue scrub pants provided by the ER staff, he looked down the hall while they nurse went to track down an x-ray machine and a doctor.]
Clem! [And if people could wag a tail, his would be whipping back and forth excitedly. His grimace transformed into a grin, and he tilted his head to the side.] Shouldn't you be tied to a stretcher somewhere getting your brain fixed?