She was going to die in a dark alley and nobody would know what had happened.

Katie stood frozen as the man with the knife moved around her, tickling her throat with the tip of the blade with just enough pressure to cut into her neck. The thin line of blood was sliding down onto her collar, which only made her more angry because when she got dressed that morning, she hadn't expected that her nice shirt would be ruined.

The masked face leered at her in the darkness of the narrow alley. "Now you'll wish you gave me what I wanted before I had to pull the knife." His voice, made of oil and false sugar, slid around her, undressing her with his words as he moved to do the same with his hands.

He was taller than her, towering over all five feet, eight inches of shaking high school senior before him. She had made him angry. When she was walking to New York Public school that morning, she had been unceremoniously yanked into the alley and slammed against the filthy wall. The ski mask was swollen under his left eye where she had punched him when he had demanded her wallet, phone, and laptop and there was a small tear above his ear from when she tried to pull off the mask. The knife had come out, the wallet had gone into his pocket; her old flip phone down a sewer grate and her second-hand computer had been hit against the wall and then thrown into a garbage can that, from the smell, contained either human excrement or dead animals.

Please. Katie screamed in her head. Please. Someone. She didn't dare voice the words; the knife was still waiting at her throat as he ripped her shirt partly open, tearing off the shoulder. He's going to rape me and murder me. She was shaking, trembling like a small animal in the cold. Her eyes shut, she tried to push the man off her, but received only a deep cut in the muscle of her shoulder in response. She waited for the inevitable.

Nothing happened.

"Excuse me." A friendly voice spoke; Katie cracked her eyes open and found the speaker. A man had approached them, freezing her captor in his place. The man must have looked directly into the alley from the street and wanted to see what the dark shadowy figures were doing there instead of walking on.

He was about her height, with tanned skin and wavy dark hair, bordering on curly and streaked with grey. His eyes were kind, dark brown and weighted with knowledge and pain and concern, shining through a pair of round glasses that reflected the dim alley light. She would have put his age near fifty, but it was hard to tell "I couldn't help but see that your friend there doesn't seem to want to be with you." The new man addressed her attacker. A line of steel entered his voice, although he appeared as amiable as ever, casually leaning against the dirty brick wall. "Perhaps you should consider letting her go."

Katie's captor shifted his position, grabbing her hair with one hand and retracing the cut on her throat with the knife, reopening the wound and deepening it. She attempted to kick him in the groin, but he seemed to see it coming and shifted his body weight around so she missed.

"Sir." The man fiddled with his watch, seemingly unconsciously. "This is your last chance. Let the girl go, or I might get very angry."

The thug smirked through the hole in the ski mask. "You're going to get angry?" He mimicked the gentle voice in a mocking tone. "This is your last chance, Sir. Perhaps you should let her go." He grinned, teeth showing like a feral animal. "You're going to attack me? You and what army?" Laughing deep and cold, the knife settled closer to her throat again as he wrenched her around to face the newcomer better, reopening the wound in her shoulder. She gasped and he slapped her, cutting her cheek with the hilt of the knife and leaving a stinging hand print. "Angry yet, little man?" he taunted.

The man stood his ground. "No, but he is." And with that, Ironman dropped out of the sky and raised one arm, shooting a dart from the plated alloy that dropped Katie's captor to the ground.

The sudden lack of weight on her body was disorienting; Katie felt herself sway and half fell, half crouched against the filthy wall for support. She was still shaking (shock, the part of her mind that was still working diagnosed) and blood was leaking from the cuts on her cheek, shoulder, and neck. A pair of hands touched her back and she flinched; they pulled away, then returned gently, rubbing a small circle between her shoulder blades and she tensed again.

"Always with you and the back alleys, Bruce. Here I thought Steve was the only one who actively sought out fights." Ironman's voice was almost human, underlined with a slight metallic tone.

"Shut up, Tony. She's probably in shock; we should take her to a hospital." The hands slowly moved towards her shoulder, feeling the wet blood soaking what was left of her sleeve.

"No." Katie's voice sounded creaky, her throat tight. "Don't take me to a hospital. Don't take me there." Very much against her will, her throat caught and broke.

"You need help, Kiddo." Ironman's voice said. She violently shook her head, throwing the man's – Bruce's – hands off again.

"Don't take me to a hospital," Katie repeated. She hated them, always would. Her once-broken hand tingled at the very thought.

There was a sigh. A whispered conversation began, and Katie only caught half of it: "...needs help... shock, and the cuts. … Tower?... Okay, I'll wait."

A cloud of dust caught in Katie's throat, forcing her to cough. She leaned back against the wall, but was too confused to push Bruce's hand off her shoulder. "It's going to be okay, Sweetheart. Tony's gone to get a car, he'll be back in a moment. We're only half a block away from Stark Tower. You picked a good place to get mugged." Katie could hear the small smile in his voice. "Can you stand up?"

She nodded, then shook her head. "I don't know," she managed, her voice shaking and no more than a whisper.

"Okay, then." Bruce's voice stayed soft; why wasn't he mad at her? "We'll just wait."

"I'm sorry." Katie turned her head further away from his, the kind eyes trying to trap her in place. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what? It's okay, I didn't have anything to do today."

"It's my fault."

"Nothing's your fault, Sweetheart." Bruce knelt next to her. "Can you tell me your name?"

She nodded. "Katie."

"Nice to meet you, Katie. I'm Bruce Banner." He held out a hand and after a moment of hesitation, she took it. "Tony's here, so let's see if we can get you on your feet and to the car." She nodded and pushed with her legs, Bruce helping with a hand on her good elbow. Katie was mildly surprised to see the black sports car that was waiting at the end of the alley, but not too much- this was Tony Stark, after all.

"This yours?" A voice interrupted her thoughts; the man himself. She looked to see what he was talking about. Her backpack was on the ground, one strap cut clean through, her papers and all her music spilling out onto the dirty alley ground. She nodded and couldn't help casting a mournful look towards the trash can that held what was left of her laptop and the sewer grate where her phone was.

"My wallet..." Katie turned towards the still-unconscious thug on the ground. She wasn't sure if it was worth touching the man again just to get it back, but it had things in it she needed.

"I'll get it." Mr. Stark quickly volunteered, surprising her again. He was none to gentle as he flipped the man over and rifled through his pockets, holding up her wallet for her confirmation before zip-tying the thug to the dumpster behind them. "I called a friend at the police station; they'll be here to pick him up in half an hour or so. Plenty of time for him to wake up and panic."

Katie nodded; how else could she respond? Bruce (Mr Banner, she chided herself) tugged gently on her elbow again and she let herself be carefully led into the fancy car. Mr Stark got into the front seat; Mr Banner got into the back with her. "Next stop, Stark Tower."

Here's my new story! I've started fleshing out backstory for Katie and have a few plans for how she'll fit in with the Avengers, but I will always take comments, suggestions, and ideas, and usually they will end up in the story in some form or another.