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Jon was sick. He didn’t think he could get sick anymore, but there he was, hunched over a toilet that needs to be cleaned, waiting for the vomit to come up. It was disgusting. His chest felt as though it was caving in. His head hurts. He thinks that he has a fever because the tile of the floor can’t be that cold.
Martin was worried sick (haha). He knew Jon needed to see a doctor, because for God’s sake, he swore there was blood coming up alongside the bile. Jon’s head was as hot as a stovetop burner, it hurt to touch, and his dark skin was pale and gray. He must’ve looked especially bad because Martin told him in no uncertain that he had to go to the doctor's. "Right now," he said when Jon protested.
Jon was given a firm lecture after he had complained about the uselessness of medicine when he used it, and then found himself bundled up in one of Martin’s softest sweaters, sitting in the waiting room of a nearby walk-in clinic. Jon didn’t want to go to a doctor, but Martin was scary when it came to his health. (He hated to show it, but he enjoyed the worrying. It made him feel...loved. He supposed he was now.)
A gentle-looking nurse ushered him into a room, taking his vitals while Martin explained the situation. He rattled off Jon’s symptoms and Jon felt himself getting drowsy listening to him, leaning against his shoulder until being startled awake by the blood pressure cuff when it began to squeeze too tightly.
“Well,” she began, “I’m not really sure what you have, but I’ll have some X-rays taken since you mentioned pains in the chest. Better safe than sorry if you ask me!”
Jon’s throat was too rough for him to be able to respond coherently, so he just nodded, and stuck his face further into Martin’s side (who was enjoying the amount of affection sick Jon was giving him, no less in public).
Jon wasn't very conscious, so he could only really mutely follow Martin's lead, and he suffered through a few X-rays and assorted swabs and tests before being left in a room to wait for the doctor. The room was quite barren. Jon kept dozing off, deeming sleep better than being sick— after the whole apocalypse thing, and then lots of therapy, Jon was finally somewhat comfortable being vulnerable in public.
The doctor arrived after twenty minutes or so. He was a pleasant man— older, fatherly. Jon didn’t Know much about him; his illness must be interfering with his... powers.
“So, Jonathan Sims, correct?” The doctor began, flipping idly through some files (the manila folder seemed considerably thick, but not surprisingly so, considering Jon’s history). He didn't seem too surprised by his appearance or scars, which was nice. “Is he able to communicate in any way currently?”
Martin shrugged. “He’s probably fine with yes or no questions, but he’s— “
Jon shifted a bit on the table he laid on. “I can talk,” he said in a raspy voice, much to Martin's chagrin.
“Alright, then, can you tell me that these facts are correct?”
The doctor then ran through the general questions— date of birth, any known hereditary illnesses, last checkup, etc. The man only started to look confused after he pulled out the X-rays taken by the nurse. He quietly observed them, about to deem them normal, before noticing them strangest thing.
“Mr. Sims, odd question, but can you give me any reason you would be missing any ribs?” He spoke incredulously, not quite trusting his eyes.
Jon glanced away nervously. “Well...yes. I don’t think you would believe it, though. Funny how I keep having to say that, huh, Martin?”
“Jon, what did you do? Since when did you have ribs missing?” Martin seemed just as appalled as the doctor.
“I asked...a friend. To. Um. Remove them. For completely justifiable reasons, I assure you.”
The doctor flipped through the X-rays once more, trying to figure out what. The. Fuck. The two ribs, both at the very bottom on opposite sides, had been cleanly broken off. There were no dangerous shards floating around, nor jagged ends at the breaking points. It was just a clean cut, or rather, a snap. “I would prefer some clarification, if that’s alright with you. I don’t notice any mention of this on your medical records, nor any scars on your chest. Was this friend a surgeon?”
Jon froze up as two concerned gazes were directed straight back at him. “I. He wasn’t a surgeon or anything, but I don’t have any scars. Pretty good job, I’d say. Just reached right in and yanked them out. One for me, one for him. I still have one, if you want it.”
Martin was mortified. “Wait, was this Jared Hopworth? The Boneturner? When did you meet him? Jon? Do you have your rib laying around somewhere in our house?!”
“I needed an anchor before going after Daisy in the Buried! Turned out to be a bit useless, but I didn’t know that. This is all unrelated. My illness doesn’t stem from my ribs. Doctor, if you would continue with your diagnosis?”
Jon stared at him with gritted teeth. Martin gave Jon an obvious ‘we will talk about this later’ stare before nodding at the doctor to continue.
The doctor didn't know why, but he felt more than four eyes on him, watching him from all angles. Waiting. He coughed and began, “Well, for the chest pains I’ll just prescribe some…”
---
The two men left the doctor’s office an hour later with a prescription filled out and enough medicine to last a week. The doctor sat back in his chair, relieved.
He didn’t believe in the supernatural, and most of the things Jon had said made absolutely no sense. But what other explanation was there for missing ribs? If it was some kind of problem at birth, then it would be on his records. But no, they were gone, and it was clear that they had once been there. No scars were visible that could’ve been attributed to this probably illegal surgery (though there were many of those, but none in the right places).
He sighed and put the considerably thicker file back with the rest of them. Hopefully he wasn’t working next time Jonathan Sims needed a doctor.
---
“Jon, what the fuck?” Martin brought up, once Jon had taken his medicine and gotten comfortable on his nest of a bed.
"Yes?"
"We will talk about all of that once you're better."
Jon sighed. "I figured as much."
"You know, you didn't have to say all that to him. About Jared and such."
“What else could I have said? You wanted me to go to the doctor’s, but I’m not exactly human. Kind of hard to explain those monstrous parts of me.”
“Fine, fine. I guess that should’ve been expected. But you still need to take your medicine once your next dose is due. Get some rest until then, ok?"
"Only if you keep me some company, that is," Jon said with a grin.