Can't See the Truth

Gunshot wounds, especially to those people affiliated with SHIELD, were one of the many injuries not taken lightly by the hospital.

After Brooke was shot, the team wasted no time in getting her to the designated SHIELD hospital where she received immediate attention for the shot to her abdomen. After hours in surgery, all the bullet fragments were removed and all the damage done was practically fixed, leaving only close monitoring and strict bedrest to her healing agenda.

But that didn’t put the team at ease, especially Schaefer and Pamplemousse. Although the doctors reassured both of them that she would more than likely make it, Schaefer refused to leave Brooke’s side and Pamplemousse spent all of her time at the hospital staring intently at her sister of sorts.

“Is she gonna be okay?” the ten-year-old asked for the thousandth time.

“I am nearly certain of it, young grapefruit,” Thor said with the kindest intent. “Perhaps you are worrying too much.”

“I can’t help it,” she replied, shrugging her shoulders as her gaze stayed locked on Brooke’s unconscious body. “I lost CJ. I don’t wanna lose her too.”

Bruce gave a small, sad sigh as he put a hand on his daughter’s shoulder.

“Enough of this sadness!” Thor said with a smile. “I have a wonderful idea to bring your spirits up, young grapefruit!”

Pamplemousse finally pulled her gaze away from Brooke and looked at Thor. “What’s that?”

“Why don’t I take you for a trip to Asgard? Show you the world I come from!”

A smile broke out on the young girl’s face as horror shadowed Bruce’s.

“Oh no!” Bruce said quickly. “No, I don’t want you going to Asgard.”

“Why not, daddy?” Pamplemousse asked, shifting her sights to Bruce.

“I think you’re way too young,” he admitted. “We’ll talk about it when you’re older.”

“Aww!” Pamplemousse whined. “But daaady!”

“No ‘buts,’” he said quickly. “When you’re older, we’ll discuss it.”

The ten-year-old gave a loud, dramatic sigh and slumped forward in her chair, looking hilariously pouty and defeated.

****

Toni sat in her room, running the fabric of her institution-issued scrub pants between her fingers. It felt like a coarse cotton blend, like some hospital gowns she had to wear in the past. The room itself was awfully bland, just like the all-white scrubs she was being forced to wear.

The walls were plain concrete with a single coat of white paint. There was only one window that was about the size of an average computer screen. The floor was also concrete, but instead of the single-coat white, it reminded Toni of the inside of a lot of garages and basements she’d seen; a matte grey with flecks of fancy-looking colors that would sometimes catch the light coming in from the hall through the window in the heavy, metal door to her room and the occasional helicopter and airplane lights. The door was also painted white and the window was the size of two normally-sized brochures sitting on top of one another. A small “bathroom” was in the corner which included a shatterproof mirror that was about the same size as the door-window.

It wasn’t the worst thing Toni had seen in her life, but it was kinda close. If anything, the room reminded her of the one she had at her mom’s old apartment. The walls were a cheap plaster and the floor was covered in an old, matted shag carpet. But this place? This mental hospital? It certainly felt more welcoming and inviting than that old hellhole.

A soft knock on the door followed by the creak of the old metal hinges caught Toni’s attention. One of the orderlies, whose nametag said Franz L., brought a small tray.

“Good afternoon,” he said with a small smile. “I have some pills the doc wants you to take.”

Toni nodded and held out her hand. “If she insists.”

Franz nodded and handed her the small paper cup with two yellow pills and one blue pill. After she downed the pills, he handed her another small paper cup with water.

“I don’t know if anyone told you, but you’re being transferred to a doctor with more experience to handle your case.”

“Am I really that bad?” she asked, sounding a little hurt.

“Oh no,” he said. “You just have a unique file. Nothing to worry about.” Franz gave her a smile and she returned it.

“Thank you,” she muttered.

“No problem,” he said as the door closed behind him.

****

The group had been at the hospital for the past two hours that day. Pamplemousse spent forty-five minutes of that time plotting a way to convince Bruce to let her go to Asgard.

“Daddy,” she said sweetly. “Can I go with Thor to Asgard?”

“Pamplemousse!” he said. “I told you that we would talk about it when you got older!”

“But every second, I get older! Every second, I get closer to dying!” she retorted dramatically.

“Who told you to say that?” Bruce asked as he tried not to laugh at the overdone expressions and gestures.

Pamplemousse smiled. “Brooke did!”

Within ten minutes, the team had assembled in Brooke’s hospital room, and sure enough, she was awake. In fact, she was so awake that she was yelling and throwing things at the TV when they walked in.

“Well fuuuck you too, Sammy!” she slurred in a morphine-driven state of drug-infused rage. “I think Cas did just molotov your brother with Holy Fire! Deal with it, ASSBUTT!!”