Soul Healer (Loki x Reader)

2

When the phone rang, the Chief of Traumatology stopped his speech with a very perplexed expression and pulled his mobile phone out of the pocket of his white coat to answer it. You already knew something really bad had happened. No one would have dared to interrupt Dr. Pickens' presentation otherwise.

He had just answered the call and said a few, terse words before you saw his head whipping to stare out of the windows, his face falling into a mask of pure horror and disbelief. Anyone in the meeting room followed his movement in a mimic reaction.

And so you saw the reason for the call.

The staff room on the 5th floor of the New York-Presbyterian Hospital was packed with doctors and nurses attending the presentation, and they all stood up in the same moment and rushed before the windows, staring open-mouthed at the scene outside.

No one could have believed this was happening AGAIN.

Bad things seemed to be attracted to NYC. Or maybe it was the Avenger's presence. It was most likely the latter.

This time the battle was raging a few blocks from the Hospital. People in black outfits were shooting at each other down in the streets while drones and small spacecraft were flashing up in the sky, sparking light and fire blasts.

Whatever.

The result would be pretty much the same.

The Avengers surely would handle and win this new battle, walking away safe and sound as ever. They were the Avengers, after all, Earth's most acclaimed heroes and all that.

But the consequences for the citizens would be catastrophic. As usual.

When the glasses of the building started to shatter in quite an alarming way, the medical staff seemed to come to their senses again and started to rush out of the room and pile downstairs. No time for further discussion.

Surely, there was work to do. A lot of work. A whirlwind of injured people would soon start to pour into the trauma center and the chaos would spread very far even sooner.

By the time you made your way through the crowd heading downstairs, picking up and snapping on a pair of gloves meanwhile, you were already bracing for what you already knew would be hell.

In fact, once you reached the bottom of the steps, it was like entering another world.

The place was already in an uproar. People screaming, medics in distinctive white outfits running about frantically and shouting orders. The first wave of wounded was being brought in by any means: wheeled through the hall on stretchers propelled by the emergency staff, slung across shoulders or clenched tight in arms of their desperate loved ones.

There were already a lot of patients with head injuries because chunks of cement had fallen on them. And twisted ankles because of the uneven ground. And broken bones. And burns. And blood. A lot of blood.

Nothing of that looked fairly new to your experience, and yet it took you a short moment to take in the magnitude of whole scene. A complete list of tasks was eagerly summoned by your brain as your entered in the go mode, that included a small reminder to breath regularly. Clearly, maintain cold blood wasn't as easy for anyone.

Narrowing the closer scenery, you caught glimpse of a couple of very young nurses, frozen in fear, sideswiped by a wheeled bed with an unconscious woman on they kept looking at with haunted gazes, faces white as the bed's sheets.

Few terse steps in their direction and with a jerk of your thumb, you ordered them into the clinic, barking them to move and gather supplies. Despite your too-young look to be a commander, the authoritative tone you naturally put on in such kind of circumstances was always enough to made clear your appointment was not arbitrary. On double thought, that was something of a joke against the true feelings boiling under your resolute and calm surface, but no need to for anyone to know. In fact, the two complied without question, but as they shakily passed, you made a mental note to apologize to them when that craziness of a day would have been over.