Prologue
John Watson was a peculiar case, and he knew it. He's been able to see the world differently since the day he was born. For him it was easy to see the black scrawl written on the faces of everyone he passed. They spelled out secrets he couldn't have possibly known. When he was a child, he had made the mistake of blurting out that his babysitter was an adulterer. That earned him a hard slap to the cheek, and he didn't understand why. It was right there! Didn't they see? It was on her forehead, written as plain as day.
"How dare you! Y-You FREAK!" the women had cried. She then went on to resign. It was then that he knew he wasn't normal. No one could see what he saw. He then vowed to never tell anyone, else they lock him up out of fear, or take him away to be experimented on. So he quickly learned to cope, to keep his facial features masked, giving nothing away. He became good at pretending he was normal.
It hurt seeing the sins; knowing that your parents weren't as perfect as you hoped they were.
Everywhere he went, dark black ink was etched into faces of the people he passed. He's learned to ignore it for the most part. Most of the time was just a sea of black in the back of his mind. Sometimes the ink would be one word; alcoholic or cheater. Other times it would be a list of words jumbled together, running down their face, over their ear, down the cheeks, or across the lips.
It was an endless sea of black in his monotonous life. John Watson just sighed, and took it all in stride. There was nothing he could do to change it.
When John Watson was seven years old, he knew his father was an alcoholic. At that age he might not have known what that meant, but nonetheless he knew. It was written on his fathers forehead in black script.
John was smart, and observant, he knew his dad would come home in a spur of uncontrollable rage. He knew what a punch felt like, wether it landed sloppily or hit with unyielding power. He also knew his mother was having an affair with the mailman. He read that off her forehead when he was five.
So, it shouldn't have come as a surprise to John on his fourteenth birthday, that Harry would get one too. It appeared while Harry was singing happy birthday to him. Black scrawl started to form on her forehead. The word were slowly transforming into cursive. He closed his eyes, desperate to stop it. Couldn't his ability just let him be? Stop ruining the images of everyone he knows? Couldn't it keep Harry special? Keep him from knowing and hurting? He was resolved then and there- he would do everything in his power to help her. Despite whatever it happened to reveal.
He couldn't lose anyone else to his curse.
He opened his eyes slowly, his face scrunched up in a grimace. He couldn't help the surprised gasp that fell from his on her forehead were the words: alcoholic
She finishes the song but he can no longer hear anything over the ringing of his ears. John is pretty sure he can hear Harry asking him if he is alright, but he can't respond. He shakes his head and offers an apologetic smile. John is good at that. She is now closer to becoming their father. How could she do this to him?
John goes to blow out the candles, and closes his eyes to make a wish. One person, please God, can I find one person who's blank? he thinks with all his might. He doesn't think he can take any more of this.
John Watson wouldn't get his wish for another 18 years.