1. It's All in Your Head

The nurse looked at Clint, then down at the tablet showing his medical records, then back up at him. "No, you're fine. You're free to go."

Clint rotated his left arm. "I'm still feeling a twinge here." He pointed at his armpit. "Right here."

"The fact you can even rotate that shoulder after a severe dislocation indicates that you've healed up fine. In fact, we've already kept you two extra days to do tests. At your request." She sighed and tucked the tablet under her arm. "A little soreness is expected, and you know that."

"But what if--"

"Get out of my ward, Agent." She turned and walked out.

Clint knew that it was step one of the escalation. Next a burly CNA would come in to glare at him, and then Doctor Nguyen would come in to glare at him, and eventually they would call in Coulson to come and glare at him until Clint put his shoes on and left the medical ward.

Unless they jumped the gun and just sent Coulson in as a first strike.

Appearing out of nowhere, Coulson stood in the doorway with his arms crossed. "Barton, you are the worst hypochondriac in SHIELD. Put your damn shoes on and go to your quarters."

Clint grumbled but he knew the gig was up. He slapped his boots on his feet, purposefully making theatrical wincing gestures as he grabbed his small duffle bag. Coulson ignored him completely, of course.

"I'll never understand why you love the medical ward so much. We have to pry you out of there every damn time." Coulson bitched all the way to the elevators.

"Just trying to make sure I'm in top shape for SHIELD business, sir." Clint smirked.

"Right. Whatever." Coulson punched the buttons for their different floors. "If I hear one word of you trying to sneak back into medical for anything other than condoms, I'm ordering mandatory psyche."

"Got it." Clint sighed, shouldering his bag. Time to go back out into the big, bad world.

---

"And how did this happen, young man?" The doctor asked, gently holding Clint's fractured arm.

"Told ya, he fell out of a damn tree." Clint's mother stood nervously to the side, chewing on a nail. "Him and his brother, you know? Always getting into shit."

The doctor side eyed his mother, and Clint panicked. "I did. I climbed the tree! I'm sorry!" He turned on the tears, which after so many real tears in the last couple of hours was hard, but he had a lot of practice.

His mother stared at him, her dark eyes filled with relief. Clint felt proud of himself for a moment, because he was protecting his mother, the way their father never did. He would make sure their mother didn't get in trouble. It wasn't her fault that Clint had a smart mouth and talked back too much. They all knew Dad had a temper, they all knew what would happen.

"We've got to put a cast on this. You going to be a brave boy and hold still while I do this?" The doctor asked, his voice soft and mellow. Clint blinked at him, a syrupy warm feeling of safety flooding him after so much pain and fear.

"Yeah. I mean, yes sir."

"Good kid." The doctor ruffled his hair. Clint smiled.

"I'm going for coffee and a smoke. Don't give the doctor any of your crap, okay honey?" Clint's mother kissed his temple in a show of affection that Clint knew full well for not really for his benefit.

"Okay, Mom. Promise!"

"We'll be done within thirty minutes, Mrs. Barton," the nurse said, ushering Clint's mother out of the room.

The doctor waited for the door to close, then turned back to Clint. "So was it a big tree?"

There hadn't been any tree, and somehow Clint knew that the doctor knew that. He just shrugged. "Kinda. My fault. Really."

"Hmmm. Got your parents mad at you for that, huh?" The doctor smiled at him again.

"Dad, yeah, he's always mad," Clint said then paled, realizing his mistake.

The nurse put a warm blanket over Clint's lap, tucking him in. "He looks a little feverish, don't you think, Doctor?"

The doctor gave the nurse a tight look. He wasn't mad, but he wasn't happy either, so Clint held very still.

"Yes, Nurse Hausen. I think he is. Maybe a little bit of shock, hm?"

"What's that mean?" Clint asked, pushing back in the chair a little.

"Means we think you should stay overnight for observation, son."

"We can't afford that!" Clint barked.

"Let us worry about that, little soldier. You just relax and let me wrap up this arm. You'll stay here tonight, just so we can make sure you're fine."

"Can Mom stay with me?" Clint asked, suspicious and still pulling away a little.

The doctor zeroed in on him again, and Clint shifted in his seat. The nurse rubbed his shoulder, though, and he relaxed.

"Do you want her to?"

"Yeah." Clint nodded.

The doctor gave the nurse another weird look, then turned back to Clint. "Of course she can stay."

"Just for the night?"

"Yes, just for the night." The doctor worked on the cast.

The nurse leaned over. "We've got chocolate pudding! But only for good boys. "

Clint grinned, thoughts of pudding dancing in his head. "I can be a good boy!"

"I bet you are, champ." The doctor smiled again.

Clint settled back in the chair with a happy squirm. They had made the pain in his arm go away, and now he and his mother wouldn't even have to go home again. They could sleep for real on a real bed and eat pudding. Hospitals were great, no matter what Barney said.