12.10

Helena jogged to the ER, quickly approaching the metal shelves that held the yellow trauma gowns and pulling one on. Not even tying the back of the gown, she grabbed a pair of gloves to put on, before approaching April, who talked to two women by the nurses station.

"I-I got paged 911?" The brunette doctor asked, as she put her gloves on. "We have a GSW on a kid?!"

"Wait, GSW on a kid?" One of the women turned around. "Is that our kid?"

"Campos, let's move." Owen let out, as he approached the surgeon. "We have an incoming GSW, victim's eight years old."

"Oh my God!" The other woman turned around.

"Our kids are both eight years old. Which one is it?" The redhead mother asked, in panic.

"Which one of our sons has been shot?" The brunette  mother repeated.

"Ma'am, we'll know more soon. But right now..." Owen started, beginning to tie the back of Helena's gown.

"Right now, we really need to get to work and we'll let you know more as soon as we can." Helena nodded, turning as Owen tapped her shoulder, to indicate he had finished, then jogging out of the door.

As she reached the ambulance bay, the brunette took a deep breath, peaking around the corner, in anticipation of the ambulance. Swallowing hard, the doctor bit her lower lip. It seemed both cruel and terrifying that a child had been shot.

Hearing several feet approaching her from behind, Helena turned around to see that a small crowd of doctors had formed.

"Everyone, I know you're trying to help and I appreciate it, but all I need right now are Hunt, Wilson and maybe Cardio and Neuro." She explained, speaking loud enough so that she could be heard even over the sound of the ambulance sirens. "We all know how a crowd can make our job harder, so if you're not needed, please feel free to go."

As the ambulance pulled into the bay, the two mothers attempted to move through the line of doctors, Webber and Bailey keeping them out of the way.

With a jog, the team of doctors responsible for the case approached the ambulance, the paramedic informing. "Eight-year-old male, GSW to the abdomen. Stable after 500cc bolus NS."

"Thank you." Helena nodded, as the doctors began the initial assessment. Quickly moving through the crowd, they surgeons wheeled the small boy into the hospital, as the woman in charge announced. "Coming through."

By the wall, one of the mothers hugged their child, as the other sobbed into Webber's arms.

——

"Brandon's injuries are severe." Helena explained to the mothers, one of them holding her son in front of her. "He is being prepped for surgery right now."

"The bullet hit the spinal cord, so at the moment we are evaluating-" Amelia started.

However, she was interrupted as a young woman approached the group, letting out. "Patty!"

"Stacy? Are you ok?" The redhead answered.

"I'm so sorry, I left the room for just a few minutes." The girl who seemed to be the boys' babysitter apologized.

"Were the boys out front?" The brunette asked.

"Did they find the person who did it?"

At that, Stacy struggled to get her words out. "Uh, n-No. The boys found your gun. They were playing with it."

It was safe to say neither of the doctors was expecting the revelation. Helena blinked rapidly, sharing a disbelieving look with Amelia, whose mouth opened slightly.

Meanwhile, the woman whose son was in her arms asked. "Your gun? You have a ?"

"Yes, I do. But it's locked." Patricia justified. "No. No..."

"We we're just playing. It went off." The small boy's eyes filled with tears. "Did I kill Brandon?"

"No. Peter, no, you didn't." Amelia rushed to explain, shaking her head.

"Peter, Brandon's alive." Helena nodded, placing a hand of his shoulder. "And we are going to take care of him, ok? We're going to do our very best to make sure he's ok."

As Peter let out a sob, the two doctors walked away, Helena biting the inside of her cheek. When they were far away enough to not been seen or heard, she muttered. "I hope we're right."

"I'm sorry?"

"We told Peter that he didn't kill his friend." Helena explained. "But we don't know that. Not yet. I just... I hope we're right."

——

In surgery, Amelia studied the boy's scans, as Helena worked as the lead surgeon, along with Owen and Jo.

"L1 shattered and left fragments in the spinal canal." The neurosurgeon announced.

"I can't believe this..." Helena shook her head, as she worked. "How did his mom just have a gun laying around?"

"She said she had it locked up." Hunt shrugged.

"The should be locked up." Amelia shared, approaching the table.

"Well, she might be." The trauma surgeon told them. "It might be involuntary manslaughter if-"

"No." Helena interrupted, raising a brow slightly, to stop Owen from continuing. "No, we're not saying it, because it's not happening. I just... I don't get how you have a gun in the same house your kid lives in and not even teach them about how dangerous they can be..."

"Yeah..." Owen agreed.

"Do you own a gun?" Amelia asked, suddenly, curiosity in her tone.

"No." He chuckled. "No. No, I fix bullet holes, I don't make them."

"Oh. You know, with you being in the Army, I imagined..." The neurosurgeon justified her preconception.

"Well, you need one in the army. You don't need one here." He shrugged.

"Meanwhile, everyday, someone's kid is in an OR with a gunshot wound." The neurosurgeon sighed. "Every day."

"I swear, this is one of the things I miss the most about living in Portugal. Knowing people can't just buy guns whenever they feel like it. I didn't even know there were countries in which you , until I was, like, twelve..." Helena shared, shaking her head. "That made me feel safe. Knowing guns were only for hunters or the army. That makes you feel safe in a way owning a gun yourself will never."