Disclaimer: I do not own the Trauma Center property or its characters. Any OCs involved are mine.
Dedication: Story! Congratulations on being Member of the Month on Hostile Take over.
Author's Note: I am writing this after having read the wiki for the game. I apologize for any mischaracterization. I watched a few YouTube videos and decided to go from there and it's my hope that all who read this can enjoy it.
Onto the story:
For every patient, it didn't matter who they were and what they did, Derek saw the same person standing before him. It didn't matter their age, their race, or even if they were the same gender; all he ever saw was his father.
It made every case personal.
Most doctors would say that was unwise of him, taking the job with him in his heart, carrying the burdens of every child loss, knowing there'd always be a question if he could've done more. Brandon Marshall made it clear that he was foolish for not looking at them as mere numbers. He always said that "numbers want to move on to the next," yet complained "humans want everyone to believe that they're all that's important at that moment."
Doctor Derek Stiles knew he meant well. His feelings on the matter weren't much different from the others he worked with. When they went to medical conventions, it was agreed wordlessly among his contemporaries because for them, it allowed to sleep at night. Derek needn't worry about sleeping; he hasn't done that since the day his father died.
He took naps throughout the day, and in those moments of silence, his eyes closed to the world, his father was always there. Smiling. He was always so proud of the man that he'd never gotten to see grow up. Derek was always tempted to walk over to him in his dreams, ask him if he was visiting him from heaven or was this dream version an illusion that only a sad boy dreamy of whenever he closed his eyes.
The answer was scary. He didn't want to know the truth.
It was just good for those few moments before called into surgery that he could see his smile. His father believed in him up until the very end. His father smiled for him even in death.
Still, belief in him and smiles didn't stop him from dying. It didn't stop the tears that he and his mother kept inside for years while he silently blamed himself throughout his teenage years for being unable to save his father. Then, when he finally started to believe different, he discovered the healing touch. That friggin healing touch! It was such a beautiful loathsome thing.
It was a necessary gift despite many advised against using it. He could remember agreeing to not using his gift unless it was an emergency. Brandon Marshall agreed to the same contract. He accepted with no problem. That young man was a natural saviour even without it. He also accepted that his mistakes could make him the grim reaper. Marshall was strong. There was a strength in him believing they were nothing but numbers on a chalkboard.
When Derek Stiles agreed, there was a bit of sarcasm in his heart. He worked in the Trauma Center. Every patient was an emergency.
He couldn't save his father with his healing touch.
"Doctor, you do amazing work!" A nurse whispered in his ear, softly. She smiled gently and finished the last of the stitching up his wound. "It's like you have the magic touch."
Derek sighed as he removed his gloves and looked back at the patient. He hasn't even realized that he'd been working a small child. He chuckled. He could tell that everyone thought he'd lost it for just a moment, but he smiled.
He might've not been able to save his father with these healing hands, but Derek had decided long ago he'd save every one who came into his sector with those hands.
Still, a part of him wondered if he would care so much if he didn't see his father in their spot. He didn't bother trying to find the answer. It was much too scary. For now, he was happy that he did save them and that was enough.