[New York Presbyterian Hospital - Outside the Ward]
"I can't give you a definitive timeline, Agent."
Dr. Wilson stood in the hallway, crossing his arms protectively.
"The boys are suffering from severe PTSD. In this condition, REM sleep is almost impossible. They'll wake up soon, but their minds are fragile. One wrong question could shatter whatever stability they have left."
Coulson nodded politely. "I understand, Doctor. I'll be gentle."
Dr. Wilson didn't look convinced, but he walked away to attend to other patients.
Coulson sat on the plastic chair outside the room, closing his eyes. It was the first moment of peace he'd had in weeks. Between hunting the Joker, vetting John Constantine, and now investigating this "Haunted Forest," he was running on caffeine and duty.
He leaned his head back, letting the hospital's hum wash over him.
"NO!!!"
A scream tore through the silence. It was raw, primal terror.
"GET OUT! GET OUT OF MY HEAD!"
Coulson's eyes snapped open. He drew his sidearm halfway out of its holster and burst into the room.
The scene inside was chaotic.
Liam was sitting upright in bed, eyes wide and unseeing. He was clawing at his own scalp, his fingernails drawing blood, screaming as if something was physically inside his skull.
Ethan was worse. He was lying flat, pressing a pillow over his face with desperate force, trying to smother the world—or himself—out of existence.
Coulson scanned the room. No attackers. No monsters. Just two broken children fighting invisible demons.
He holstered his weapon and rushed to Ethan's side, wrenching the pillow away. Ethan gasped, his face purple, eyes darting around the room in a frenzy.
The door burst open behind him. Dr. Wilson and a team of nurses rushed in.
"Restrain them! 10mg of Diazepam, now!"
The nurses moved efficiently. Within seconds, needles were administered. The screaming turned to whimpering, then to heavy, ragged breathing as the sedatives took hold.
Dr. Wilson turned on Coulson, his face flushed with anger.
"You see what I mean? They are unstable. If you interrogate them now, you'll break them completely. I suggest you leave."
Coulson looked at the doctor. He kept his smile friendly, but his eyes were hard as flint.
"Doctor Wilson," Coulson said softly. "I am here to stop this. If I walk away, more kids go into that forest. And next time, they might not come out at all."
"So please. Give me five minutes."
Wilson glared at him, but the authority in Coulson's voice was absolute. He signaled the nurses to leave.
"Five minutes," Wilson hissed, closing the door behind him.
Coulson waited until the latch clicked. He pulled a small signal jammer from his pocket and set it on the nightstand.
He pulled a chair between the two beds.
"My name is Agent Phil Coulson," he said, holding up his badge so they could see the eagle crest. "I work for a division that handles... special cases."
"I know what you saw. And I can help you."
The effect was instantaneous. The sedative-induced fog lifted from their eyes, replaced by desperate hope.
"Help us..." Liam whispered, tears mixing with the blood on his forehead. "Please... he won't let us go."
"Who?"
"The skeleton... the burning eyes..." Ethan choked out. "Even when we sleep... he's there."
Haltingly, terrified of their own memories, they told him everything.
The silence of the forest. The hand in the dirt. The skeleton that stood up. The ghosts. The zombies. The way the trees seemed to watch them.
They spoke of a coordinated nightmare. The monsters didn't just attack; they herded them. They terrified them. But they didn't kill them.
Coulson listened without interrupting. He mentally cataloged every detail.
Intelligence.
That was the key. Wild monsters attack and kill. These creatures had spared the boys. That meant orders. That meant a hierarchy.
Someone—or something—was commanding an army of the dead in a forest five miles from Manhattan.
This was way above his pay grade.
"Thank you," Coulson said gently, standing up. "You did the right thing telling me. We'll take it from here."
He walked out of the room, leaving the boys to their chemically induced sleep.
Coulson walked straight to his car in the parking lot. He dialed a secure line.
"Director," Coulson said the moment the line clicked. "It's confirmed. Organized supernatural activity. Non-lethal so far, but highly territorial. We're looking at a potential stronghold."
Nick Fury's voice came back instantly, calm and decisive.
"Understood. You need backup who speaks the language."
"I've arranged an assistant for you," Fury continued. "She's in New York right now."
Coulson blinked. "Who?"
"An expert in the... exotic," Fury replied. "I'm sending her coordinates. Don't keep her waiting."
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