Shots Fired
Tears threaten the very corners of Charlie’s big blue eyes, just a squint away from cascading down cheeks rounded with baby fat.
If there’s one thing that no child likes, it’s doctor visits. He’s no different. Usually, he can brave the appointments anyway in return for the prizes after; hoarding lollipops and praising stickers like they’re spoils of war.
Shots, however, change everything. Charlie hates needles.
“I don’t wanna.” He fusses anxiously, little fingers crinkling the waxy paper beneath him. It’s the last thing before they can leave and go home, but he’s still not prepared for the doctor to walk through the door with that behemoth of a needle to stick in his arm.
In the room, it’s just him, Andrew, and their father, but his dad has long since given up the act of comforting. Now he just stands, exasperated, by the door with his hands on his hips and a frown on his face. It’s clear his patience with Charlie’s whining has run thin.
“It’s gonna hurt, Andy.” He whimpers, then, at his brother instead. Those watery puppy eyes turn on him now, lower lip wobbling dangerously.
He wishes he could be braver about this, brave like Andrew! Andrew isn’t afraid of anything. He’s seen him disappear into the leaves of the tallest tree in their yard like it was nothing before and he didn’t even use a nightlight anymore.
“Charlie, we’re not sending that doctor away again. You’re either going to behave or get held down for it.” His dad snaps.
His words, impatient and laced with irritation, only add to the growing pool of tears until Charlie’s vision is blurred and watery. He blinks a few times, rapidly, and the first salty droplet spills down rosy cheeks like a stream of rushing stormwater down a steep road.
Embarrassed, he balls one small hand into a fist to swipe it away and takes in a great, chest-shuddering breath.
“Yeah, but only for a second.” Chimes Andrew, cutting in with reassurance, as if their father hadn’t spoken at all. His own arm boasts a fresh Iron Man band-aid from the needle he’d taken without even a flinch just minutes ago.
Luckily, he finds succor in the familiar timbre of Andrew’s voice, the way it instantly drops into a soft tone for him, the small, reassuring curve to his lips.
It’s short-lived, however, when his brother’s fingers suddenly pinch the porcelain of the back of his hand.
“Like this.”
″Ouch, Drew!” He whines anyway, young mind exaggerating the harmless pinch to a magnitude more fitting for a knife wound than a shot.
A side-eyed glance thrown his dad’s way reveals tightly furrowed eyebrows and a deepening frown. He decides, very quickly, that he doesn’t want to push this any further- the man seems seconds away from just injecting Charlie himself.
“It didn’t hurt, Charlie, stop. It’ll be fast, I promise.”
As more tears venture over the rim of his eyelid, he looks back at his big brother and presses his lips together, doing his best to look stronger than he’s feeling.
Well...if Andrew could do it, without even crying, he thinks maybe he has a chance at it, too.
“Will you hold my hand for it?”
He gets no verbal answer, just feels a warm palm press against his own as Andy scoots closer.
The hinges of the door squeak obnoxiously as the doctor steps inside once more. The child inhales deeply, tightening his little fingers around Andrew’s larger hand.
A soldier prepared for battle, Charlie stiffens his lip and offers his arm out obediently.