𝗣𝖮𝗟𝗔𝗥𝖨𝗭𝗘 ➣ 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤-𝐑𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 ²

𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑: 𝐋𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐒 is a bright light shining in her eyes.

"Hi, hon." It's a kind woman with round glasses and long, straight brown hair. Her smile is warm. "You're alright. You took a pretty bad hit- don't move, honey. Can you open your eyes for me?"

The lady's mouth is moving too fast. Charlie doesn't like it.

She blinks. The lady's face is swimming in and out of Charlie's vision, darkness swing and crumbling at the edges. She keeps multiplying- doubling, tripling- before merging back into one, then starting all over again.

Charlie doesn't like it.

The lady's mouth is still moving, and she's holding Charlie's face gently with cool fingers. She knows logically that this is a doctor of some kind- she's in a hospital, she's gathered that much- but everything is happening too fast, and the lights are too loud.

The lights are too loud, but light doesn't make noise, and Charlie doesn't like it at all.

"Someone get Mr. Stark and the Captain, please!" The lady calls, and Charlie squeezes her eyes shut as the sound swims around her. "Easy, honey. I'm going to turn your head a little bit so I can look at where you hit it, okay?"

Then the fingers are back on her skin and- that's touch. That's touch, and Charlie doesn't like touch.

There are memories in the back of her head, but she can't make sense of them.

She can't understand the panic rising up into her chest as the lady's hands stay on her, touching and touching and touching-

Then her dads' faces are there- blond and brown mixing together, their mouth moving as they too flicker in and out of her brain. Tony and Steve. Tony looks sad and Steve looks angry. Dad and Pops.

Dad is looking at the lady who's touching her head. "She's got PTSD. Touch can kind of set her off." But the words are moving too slow for his mouth, and it doesn't make sense.

"That explains... heart rate..." The lady is suddenly right in her face. "Hi, honey. Can you hear me?"

Charlie tries to say she can- she can feel her jaw working, but she's not sure she knows what's coming out until next thing she knows-

It's dark now, the blinds pulled over the windows, and there's a blueish tint to the room.

"Charlie." It's Natasha, her pretty red hair pulled back, her feet propped up onto a chair. "Charlie. Charlie."

Charlie stares at her. "What?" She slurs.

She is wearing an itchy hospital gown, beneath some plain white sheets that aren't keeping her warm.

Natasha suddenly has her hand on Charlie's back, helping her sit up for a moment as Charlie coughs weakly, completely unable to move herself.

"Charlie," Natasha says. Why does she keep saying that? Has she been saying it for a while? "You hit your head, honey. You're concussed. It's alright."