It was brisk, the tour. Doctor Fury made sure to keep it quick and to the point. Even then, Coulson absorbed every detail the man with the eyepatch said, cataloguing it for later reference. The head doctor had told him it was alright to loosen up a bit, and Coulson considered it. But the atmosphere was unlike any hospital Coulson's ever worked at. It was tense and held a puzzling feeling; he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was just yet.
Ward M turned out to be a long room housing a row of beds (six he counted), separated by adjustable black curtains, which stood out from the all the white. At least there was a touch of privacy.
"Not bad. It's better than I expected."
"And what exactly were you expecting, Coulson?" The head doctor asked curiously.
"I don't know… metal bars, cells, shackles, the whole medieval theme." Coulson noticed the director didn't appreciate his humor.
Two of the six beds were currently occupied, one held the handsome blond from the stretcher earlier and the other, Coulson's little monkey, Clint. Both were out cold, knocked by the medicine. The room was lit by ceiling light for there were no windows in this unit. Coulson assumed there weren't any windows in any other unit, and that the main center was the only room with windows patients were allowed to roam in during break time.
"Tell me about the patients, Doctor Fury." Coulson insisted, despite holding a file on each of the six patients. Fury had handed it to him just minutes earlier.
The head doctor spun around and paused for a moment before answering.
"Patients Banner, Stark, Rogers, Odinsen, Rushman and Barton share a very... peculiar condition. They have an undifferentiated type of schizophrenia, and there's a lot about their conditions that we still don't understand. But over the past few years they've developed some sort of collective delusion."
Fury shook his head, and gave a light dry chuckle.
"They believe they're some type of heroes; The Avengers, they call themselves. Both together and individually they face overblown, grand conflicts against an assortment of enemies: human, alien, monsters, gods, you name it…"
Fury was done talking, and left without a word more, leaving Coulson alone with the six patient profiles in hand and the two passed out men. And that was the last Coulson saw of the man for a long time. Coulson lifted the chair by the door and carried it past Clint, whose bed was closest to the door, and over by the mysterious blond's bedside, which was farthest from the door. It was strange, seeing the man so calm and asleep, when just earlier he was eagerly fighting to sit upright. It took four men to hold him down as Coulson recalled.
The slight rise and fall of the man's chest was enough to put Coulson at ease. He shuffled through the profiles in his hand until he came across the one with the paperclipped picture that resembled the man in front of him. It read: ROGERS, Steve.
"Nice to meet you Steve." Coulson muttered, placing the files on his lap. Steve looked healthy, physically fit and able. For all Coulson knew, this man could be on an Olympic athlete for any sport. It made Coulson curious as to what Steve did before being admitted. He sighed and got up. There was no telling until the man woke up and Coulson thought it best to let him rest.
On his way out of Ward M, he paused by Clint, who was also sleeping, and wondered what the man could have meant by his words just an hour earlier. Coulson was aware it could have been disorientation or something of the like, and he could have dismissed it. But Coulson couldn't. Those eyes… Clint had recognized him in a strange and unsettling way.
Coulson tossed the black uniform Fury gave him in his locker and returned to the front desk by the main center, where the "well-behaved" patients got to spend their break time while being monitored by the staff. The front desk contained a glass barrier between the staff and the patients; it was similar to a command center, just, a bit smaller and with much less tech. Off to the side was but one computer, a few file cabinets, and shelves filled with prescription drugs.
From his seat at the main center desk, he could see Ward M's doors. Coulson observed the life around him in the main center for a while. There were two elderly men playing chess in the corner, which made Coulson smile softly, a redheaded woman reading some form of literature, and the same brunet with glasses from earlier just standing there looking lost, not speaking to anyone.
Coulson shuffled through the profiles of the patients in Ward M. He picked out Rogers' file, just to look at the picture again.
Steve looked like a different man than the one Coulson saw when he first got here, so strained and stressed. The picture was the opposite. While Rogers wasn't smiling, he wasn't frowning either. His blue eyes were bright with life and he had an air of confidence about him. Coulson checked the clock and put down the file, which had a SHIELD logo on the cover. It seemed just about everything had the SHIELD logo printed on it; someone must have went wild with the merchandise labeling.
He was tired of reading the words disorganized behavior, agitation, social isolation, compulsive behavior, disorientation and other long words his eyes only skimmed over on different sheets of paper and in the end he simply tossed them aside lazily.
Clint's last words to him stuck with Coulson. Get me out. He rested his chin in his hands as his elbows rested on the desk, and he sat there staring just straight ahead at nothing. It was troubling.
"Something the matter, doctor?"
Coulson blinked back to reality to see Maria Hill standing in front of him.
"Nurse Hill," he said, already getting up from his chair.
"If you're not too busy staring at the wall, come with me. I could use you in the emergency room."
"Sure, what's going on?"
"First thing you should know, before patients are admitted to the psychiatric units, they are taken to the psychiatric emergency room. That's where we're headed now, keep your head on."
They walked out of the main center, nearing the front of the hospital. Coulson was surprised he missed these doors right by the entrance. The ER.
As they approached the ER, Hill began to explain to him. "Tony Stark has been on a leave of absence for the last three months. He's admitting himself again today. His friend, Colonel James Rhodes, is here with him. I need you to speak with him, tell him everything is fine while I work with Stark."
Coulson nodded, and braced himself for what was to come.
The first thing he registered was the screams. Behind these doors he could hear cries of pain and anguish. He could tell a lot of people weren't happy. Then Hill opened the door. Coulson thought he'd seen the worst of it. How wrong he was. He would laugh at his past self.
"I want to get out of here! I want to get out of here!" A young woman cried hysterically till she was red in the face. A staff member and a nurse were holding her down, even as she was already strapped to a wheelchair. "LET GO OF ME!"
Just a few glances away, a man with shoulder length hair was being strapped to a rolling bed. His body would contract and then jolt outward, in an earnest attempt to get up and out of the arms holding him down. "I do not need help! Go away!" He yelled between his struggles.
"Most patients arrive in critical condition, even spend days in the emergency room." He heard Hill say as he absently continued to follow her through the mess of patients and staff.
"Get away from me before I claw your head off, bub," growled an angry man. Wait, did he just snarl? Coulson looked for the source of the man spitting out threats but was abruptly pulled by the arm by Hill who smacked a clipboard to his chest.
"Head on." She reminded him. He ran a hand down his face. Come on, Phil. Hold it together, he told himself.
It was a madhouse. The emergency room was an entirely different story than he expected, and definitely not in his purview.
