Chapter Text
Sometimes John wished he were more Gifted. He had heard numerous times in the news that this Gifted person or that had cured someone miraculously, and frankly he couldn’t help but be jealous. His mum had always told him that he was a natural born Healer, but it was hard to believe when he felt his patients die under his hands.
When he was younger, he’d always rescue injured animals (he’d been especially fond of saving turtles) and he seemed to have a knack for knowing what was wrong. It was never miraculous, but he put a lot of time and effort into helping animals and so it always seemed like he had a Gift. Of course, it must have been a low level Gift, but he was thankful all the same. He never showed off at school (it wasn’t like there was a lot to show off anyway) and was always kind of the wallflower as a couple of his classmates turned into bats or showed off their X-Ray vision. His sister, Harry, liked to show off too. She had been normal for most of her younger years, until suddenly she got their dad’s Gift of woodworking. She’d build something new every day to show off in class, producing miraculous pieces of art.
All in all though, John stayed off the radar. He always had a lot of friends, was overall liked, joined the rugby team and had a satisfactory childhood. Harry had bullied him a bit for his underdeveloped Gift, and they never really got along, but she still had tears in her eyes when he announced he was about to be deployed to Afghanistan.
“When do you leave?” his mum had asked him. He’d always been closer to her, confiding in her first before making any decisions, and she had known well in advance of his future. His mum claimed to never have been Gifted, though personally John thought that was a lie. It was impossible to be so caring and tolerant without a Gift.
“Tomorrow,” he answered, smiling slightly. He was a bit nervous, excited, scared, and filled with anticipation. He could sense his mum’s hidden distress, which she was trying to suppress.
“My Johnny, off to be a Healer,” she said proudly, tears in her eyes.
“Proud of you, son,” his dad had said a bit gruffly. “Sorry Harry couldn’t be here, but you know how she is.” There was really no love lost between John and Harry.
And with that, he was off to sandy deserts.
“Watson, you’re needed,” a gruff voice called him from his sleep. John woke up quickly, putting on his medic’s uniform with not a shred of embarrassment. “A couple miles from here a squad was gassed, not sure what it was, seems hallucinogenic… the chopper should be here in ten minutes.”
John nodded, and followed the sergeant out to the medical area. “Any special cases I should know about?” You never knew if you had to take into account that your patient could grow wings at a moment’s notice (which had actually happened to him one time, which is why he always asked that question now).
“One of them, Captain Cho, has a light sensitivity issue… useful for nighttime stealth attacks, but otherwise inconvenient.”
“Anything else?” John asked.
The sergeant grunted a negative and left him at the doors of the medical area. John nodded and set his mouth in a firm line, anticipating the chaos that would unfold in the next couple of minutes. He opened the doors and Alex, the other army doctor, came up to him, looking tired and harried.
“John, they’ll be here soon. There were shooters on the ground so the helicopter is damaged and may not make the landing.”
“What’s the damage?” he asked calmly.
“Broken limbs, damage to the lungs from gas inhalation… the medics on board are also hurt, but trying their best to keep everyone alive. No one documented as Gifted, except for the night-vision guy, but he shouldn’t pose too much trouble…” he hesitated. “They’ve been gassed with something, and it’s making them violent.” The soldier looked dead on his feet, but they were understaffed enough as it was.
“Beds ready?”
“Check.” Alex smiled grimly. “Ready?”
Just then, the outer doors burst through with soldiers carrying in the patients. As if a switch had been turned on, the medical area became frenzied. There were soldiers dashing to and fro, fetching medical kits, getting patients on beds, quickly cleaning wounds and diagnosing injuries. John’s patient was conscious and screaming. John strapped on the safety ties, effectively immobilizing the soldier. Except he hadn’t immobilized the head and torso yet and the soldier rose up and bit a large chunk of flesh from John’s shoulder.
“What the fuck!” John swore, and strapped down the rest of the body, blood dripping from his shoulder. “Alex, I’m afraid I’ll have to clock out of this one,” he said. His clenched his teeth, his right hand pressing against his wound. God, that soldier must’ve been an unregistered something or other. Something with fangs.
No one was available to help him, so he got out some gauze and quickly wrapped his shoulder before finally passing out from blood loss. Goddamn he hated his job sometimes.
God, I’m beat.
I wonder if Martha would say yes if I asked her out.
John needs to wake up. There’s no way the blood loss affected him this much.
I’m so tired though… when is the next shift? Another half hour? Ridiculous. John doesn’t even need me here, he’s bloody unconscious! I suppose I could take a little nap… wouldn’t do any harm…
With a start, John opened his eyes. Squinting slightly at the sudden brightness, he found himself lying in one of the hospital beds, hooked up to an IV. John tried to speak, God, but his mouth was dry. “Alex?” he asked hoarsely. He looked to his side and saw his friend asleep on the chair beside him. He cleared his throat a little. “Alex?”
Alex woke up slowly, smiling sheepishly at John. “Sorry for falling asleep on you there, mate. I’ve been working double with you lying in bed all day.”
“How long have I been here? The guys who were gassed, they’re all okay?” John looked around belatedly, but he seemed to be the only patient.
How is John so awake right now? He’s been in a coma for the past, what is it, four days? God, I need a break. Thank the lord John’s awake, I’ll be able to actually get sleep now. That other medic is shite. What’s her name? Susan, right? Martha is so much better. Wait, fuck, wasn’t John asking me something?
John frowned. Was he hallucinating? Alex’s mouth hadn’t been moving. Alex rubbed a hand over his face. “Actually... That guy who bit you really put some strange shit into your bloodstream. Never seen the likes before. He started convulsing too, afterwards. He died, but everyone else is okay. I think Lauren is gonna have a limp for a while, but that’s about it. We’re mostly worried about you, mate. You’ve been out for four days.”
John frowned, taken aback. So he hadn’t hallucinated? And four days? For blood loss? It wasn’t even acute blood loss, barely enough to pass out over, though he must’ve been injected with something from the fangs. God, sometimes he hated the Gifted. “So what kind of Gift did my patient have? Must’ve been some sort of vampire hybrid, yeah?”
“Well,” Alex shrugged. “We don’t really know. His teeth retracted by the time we noticed you were passed out and he was thrashing… yeah. Your shoulder isn’t really healing either… it’s not infected, thank God, but the skin isn’t knitting together as quickly as it should. What’d his teeth look like, anyway?”
“Dunno, didn’t see them…” John trailed off. Great. So he’d have bloody teeth marks on his shoulder forever. “So when’ll I be fit for duty?”
I hope John doesn’t live up to the stereotype that doctors make shit patients. So far he seems a bit antsy and disoriented, but to be fair he’s been unconscious for four days.
“Soon as you can stand, really.” Alex grinned. “The stitches should come out by next week, but really you’re fine. It was just the fact that you were knocked out for so long that gets me concerned.”
“Did you ever figure out what the gas was?” John asked, trying to distract himself from the second voice he was hearing. Maybe his Gift had been augmented? Weird, though. He’d been a good enough healer who had a knack for knowing what was wrong, but it was never anything near … mind reading? And another thing… four days? He didn’t get why he’d been out for so long.
Again, Alex shrugged. “Remember the guy with the night-vision thing? His name’s Alfred. He said it suppressed it for a bit, which was a bit surreal for him. But by the time he got in the chopper, his senses were in overdrive and it was almost like he could see through things. Gave his Gift a boost, I guess.”
Why’s John staring at me? He looks a bit freaked out. Weird, since he’s normally so calm.
“How’s he now?”
“Who, Alfred?” John nodded. “Oh, I get him to check in with me daily. But it seems he’s got XRay vision now, which is unheard of. I’m sure the government’d kill for super gas like that…”
John gave out a short laugh, then instantly regretted it when he felt the skin on his shoulder protesting. He winced slightly. “Mind if I take a shower?” he felt rubbish. He knew, of course, that all blood had been cleaned, but he just felt the grime of lying still for so long all over him. Uncomfortable was an understatement. He also hoped the water would cleanse his mind, and maybe the solitude would help him figure out his mental thing.
“Do I need to remind you to be careful with your injury?” Alex asked sarcastically.
“Yeah sure, and while you’re at it could you tell me again how to take off a bandage?” John asked jokingly. Alex laughed and poked him in his side. “Oh, fuck off, Al.”
“I think there are a couple shooters in that section over there,” Captain Watson told his soldiers. After his shoulder injury, his ability to read minds hadn’t gone away. He hadn’t confided in anyone yet, since it was entirely mad. Still, it was useful since at long distance he could sense the living. Certainly handy for missions like this.
It’s funny that no one questions him anymore. He’s become something of a legend, so much so that some people call him psychic. It’s absolute bullshit to them, but it’s sort of true, really. John tries not to read people’s minds and invade their privacy, his mother taught him better.
“I’ll go ahead, Erikkson, you cover my back,” he ordered, marching toward the seemingly abandoned shack. There were tons of shacks to be found in the desert, some filled with explosives, others with corpses. There was rarely anything nice to be found within one. Still, he found that he loved the desert. The stars, shining so brightly at night you could almost see by them. The desert sand contrasting with the bright blue sky. It was so beautiful here, and it broke his heart to see it torn apart by land mines and families broken by violence.
John heard the thoughts of the person in the shack. Unfortunately, he wasn’t proficient in languages, and his Pashto was rudimentary at best. He couldn’t tell what the potential enemy was thinking.
It was windy today, which never boded well. Sand in the eye really lowered your accuracy, which was vital for survival. Nodding to Erikkson, John tore down the door of the shack, his gun raised pre-emptively. He blinked at a stray grain of sand and found himself lying on the ground. What? Did I get shot? My bloody leg is KILLING me! But no, Erikkson had pulled him down and shot the person hiding in the shack. Oh God, and it was only a young boy.
No, he couldn’t do this anymore. He wouldn’t be signing on to another tour. This would be the last.