From the outside, it looked like a prison. Ask anyone, it pretty much was.

As soon as Dr. Phil Coulson stepped out of his red car, he had to double check the address stamped on the envelope in his hand to make sure he was at the right place.

"This is a hospital?" He muttered to the envelope, as if it could answer his question. He looked from the paper to the sign at the gate entrance then back to the paper.

There is no sign of life, barely any vegetation or animals. It's dead silent outside the hospital, where it's all stone walls surrounded by gates that reach about 20 feet high, lined with barbed wire. It looks like a prison, and could be mistaken for one if it wasn't for the deeply etched lettering on the tombstone-looking sign at the entrance that read: Shield Psychiatric Hosp. State of New York Dept of Human Services.

"This is the place," he confirmed to himself with a nod and got back in the car; he drove through the gate and to the hospital center. He parked right in front of the hospital doors; pulled the keys out of the ignition as he stepped out of the car, grabbed his suitcase from the floor behind the driver's seat, and pressed the lock button, which was followed by a double-beep. "I guess it's okay to park there."

Just as he was about to knock on the doors, they opened. Behind them, a woman. "Maria Hill," she introduced herself with a nod. "The hospital's been expecting you."

"I'm not late am I?" He asked humorously, smiling kindly and offering his hand while taking off his sunglasses with the other. She didn't look too friendly about the gesture but took it anyway. It was a short handshake. "Phil Coulson."

"I know." Of course she knew who he was, she worked here, and he had called ahead; what else would Coulson expect. She stepped aside, back against the door, to allow the man through. Once Coulson was inside she promptly bolted the door; regulation he supposed.

It was a long walk through the hall before they reached the second pair of doors, and Coulson had to ask, "Where are all the patients?"

"You're about to meet them, it's break time," Hill answered, pushing open one of the thick double doors.

Coulson didn't expect the sudden commotion to hit him like it did, it had been so quiet behind the doors. As soon as he crossed the double doors, noise came from all directions, he heard a woman crying, some men yelling and a few nurses scurrying about. It was easy to distinguish the patients in the dull gray colored-jumpsuit from the staff, who wore a black uniform with the hospital logo over the heart.

But the first thing that grabbed his attention was the young muscular blond being strapped to a stretcher.

"I'm a World War II war veteran! I told you that!" He yelled, desperately trying to get someone to listen to him to no avail as four men held him down, and another attempted to talk to him instead of listen. All this Coulson observed before quickly turning his head to the brunet standing in the corner with a nurse attempting to coax him out.

"Nothing works here, the medication doesn't work. I hate this place." The brunet kept saying, keeping to himself and appearing to make himself smaller. He was hunched over, staring at the wall, rubbing his hands together and repeating the same line: Nothing works here, the medication doesn't work. I hate this place. Over and over again.

Coulson turned back to the blond, who he didn't hear anymore, and realized the staff had injected him with something to help the struggling man fall asleep and they were rolling him away and through another pair of double doors.

"Barton, get down from there!"

Coulson quickly turned when he heard Maria yell at this Barton guy. He followed Ms. Hill's gaze up to the top of a barred window, the kid hanging at the top by his mere fingertips had quite a hold on the metal bar that framed the window. It would have to take someone with a large amount of upper body strength to pull himself up to the top.

While Coulson was fascinated by the level of skill put into the feat, Hill was busy chewing out the patient who obviously could care less about what she had to say.

"Now, Barton." She ordered after threatening him with taking away his privileges.

"Here, let me." Coulson stepped in. Hill gave him a questioning look. Coulson smiled in reassurance, "I've got this."

"He's all yours." She said, leaving the two so that she could attend to another patient that just came through.

"Tony, why am I not surprised." He heard her say.

Coulson returned his gaze back up at his monkey. "That's quite some height you've got there, I'm impressed. But I think you're getting tired," he noted noticing the young man's biceps quiver with strain. The only response he got was a judgemental glare.

"Barton, right?" Coulson continued anyway, keeping his voice leveled, standing right beneath the man. "Hi, I'm Phil Coulson. We haven't met, I'm new here." Coulson stopped short, watching the man closely. He recognized it almost immediately. The man was lip reading, his eyes were trained on Coulson lips and he had not once turned his head or his concentration.

"Barton? Can you hear me?" Coulson asked, receiving a wide-eyed look in response. "I'll take that as a no."

"Do you want to come down, so we can talk, maybe?"

The man shook his head. It was the first real act of communication Coulson has received from this man. It made him smile. Barton frowned in confusion.

"Alright, alright, that's fine. We can talk like this." Coulson smiled again, folding his hands together. "How old are you, Barton?"

"Clint."

Coulson's eyes widened this time, "Excuse me?"

"My name is Clint."

This caused the older man to smile again, "Nice to meet you Clint."

He noticed the man visibly flinch.

"What's wrong Clint?"

Clint clenched his jaw, staring cold and hard at the new guy.

"I'm sorry if I offended you in anyway," Coulson said slowly, wanting to stay on good terms with this blond.

The man slipped down from the bar like a firefighter, although with a lot more grace, similar to that of a gymnast. To Coulson's relief, Barton landed on his feet without injury.

"Please don't do that again, nearly gave me a heart attack."

"You're not playing this game, not you Coulson. Please tell me you're not in on this," he pleaded. Clint stood no more than three feet away from the man who had a look of confusion thrown upon his features.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand. What game?"

Clint looked about ready to pounce. A wrong move could set him off, and Coulson knew this man was probably stronger than him in muscle. Yet, all he did was lean forward and speak a few words. "Get me out."

Coulson stared in bewilderment at the man, unable to match those intense eyes, which never rested.

"You got him down, good job." Hill popped up from behind him, before Coulson got a chance to respond to Barton's plea for help.

"Uh, yeah. He's not that bad once you get to know him," Coulson managed a smile, shifting uneasily from one foot to the other.

Hill hummed in accordance with his words. "Good to hear, he's a part of the unit you've been assigned to." She gestured to some of the larger staff for assistance, they came immediately.

"Come on Barton, back to your room. No more recreation for today."

Coulson wished the man wouldn't struggle. It was hard to watch, the blond looked able to fight but ultimately outnumbered and made quite a show of himself as the guards had to pin him to the ground, face facing the floor. Hill kneeled in front of him, using a commanding tone, "You can't hit anyone Barton. Those are the rules. No hitting. Do you understand?"

She didn't get the response she wanted from Coulson could tell.

"Do you understand?"

The man continued to struggle on the floor though held firmly with his arms behind his back, legs pressed down, and a hand keeping his head down. Coulson couldn't seem to move from the scene, as though his shoes were glued to the floor.

"Alright Barton, you've got a choice. The easy way or the painful way, we're going to have to sedate you. Now you can take the pill and we can let this go, or we can use the needle and take your free time privileges."

He whined and kept fussing around, his face had turned red from attempting to resist the guard's hand on his head. He seemed to be calming down as soon as he noticed the woman beside Hill carrying a bottle, he knew what it meant. "Alright, alright, I'll take the pill."

Hill nodded to the nurse beside her who handed her the container. Coulson watched with horror.

Clint opened his mouth as Hill fed the tablet to him, then the glass of water. Everyone seemed relieved as the tension died down in the main room.

In the next split second, Clint spat out the water (along with the pill) in Hill's direction, managing to spray her by a bit and he broke out laughing. Coulson had to bite his lip to keep from smiling.

"That's it," she said angrily. She nodded to one of the staff members holding down the patient. He pulled out a syringe and stuck it on the exposed skin. It worked instantaneously, the man began to drowse and soon enough, he was out.

"Was that really necessary?" Coulson asked Hill, as he watched two men carry off Barton through the same double doors he saw the muscular blond wheeled out of.

"They have to know who's in charge, otherwise they won't respect you." She turned to face him, "You can't let them walk over you."

"Is he deaf?"

"Yes. But how did you-?"

"I saw him reading my lips." Coulson said sadly, now understanding why he had a hard time following orders. Hill didn't look as sympathetic.

"He pulled out his hearing-aids again," she sighed in frustration. "I don't get it, they're not even visible if you're not looking, I haven't figured out why he keeps taking them out. Now I have to find them. I can't wait to see where he's hid them this time. Excuse me."

Coulson watched as she stalked off, interested in following her to see if she could use his help. He felt bad about standing idly to the side as the scene from earlier took place right in front of him. He should have done something.

"We need to make it louder in here, it's too quiet."

Coulson tried not to jump as the firm sarcastic voice that came from behind him suddenly out of nowhere. He turned around to see a man with an... eyepatch. Artistic touch?

"Nick Fury," the eyepatch man offered a hand. "Head of this hospital."

"Nice to meet you," Coulson responded in kind. "I'm-"

"I know who you are."

Coulson shrugged. The man gestured in front of him, with an open palm.

"Walk with me, Dr. Coulson."

"Okay."

"There are four psychiatric units in this facility. You'll be stationed to work with those behind that door." They were headed in the direction of the same double doors Coulson saw them take two patients through, and the same doors that Hill went through when she left.

"We have some interesting characters here, I think you'll take a particular interest to Ward M."

"What's in Ward M?"

"Our superheroes."

"Very funny, sir."

Coulson stopped walking when Fury did.

"I'm not joking. These people are broken. For the most part, they're here for life. Ward M houses our facility's superheroes, or at least, those who truly believe they are superheroes."

Coulson nodded. Fury continued.

"Let me be clear, there are no such things as superheroes. Do not encourage it," Fury warned, staring Coulson down right outside the double doors with a sign overheard that read "Ward M."

"Tell me Coulson, why are you here?"

"I want to help people."

"Welcome to the family."