Untouchable
Fandom: Haven
Characters: Nathan Wournos
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: ~800
Spoilers: Pre-series.
Summary: It's started again.
Sparked by a comment on TV Tropes: "It's not discussed, but [Nathan's affliction] seems to be coupled with a sort of minor healing factor. Even after getting his hands severely burned by a red-hot gun, he requires little more than a bandage and it heals with no scars. This is likely why he suffers from few of the side afflictions you would expect from someone with no pain."
It's more than just "idiopathic neuropathy," of course.
That's the clinical term he uses, because it sounds so much more official and technical than "congenital insensitivity to pain," and he can't truthfully include the "congenital" part because he wasn't born with it. Nathan's found that the more big words you can throw at people, the less they want to ask for details for fear of sounding like they don't know what you're talking about. Once he's forced to explain, he has to deal with all the questions. (No, he really can't feel anything. No, he can't feel heat. No, he can't feel cold. No, he can't feel it when you do that, stop it.)
But he's done all the research there is to do and he knows that by any name, it's not the whole story. People with CIP don't live as long as he has. (Although he's hardly a typical case, if something that rare even has typical cases. He was only affected for a couple of years as a kid, and then it mysteriously stopped until everything went numb again a couple of months ago. The only reason that he's not the subject of media attention and medical community scrutiny is that he was a minor, and the Chief absolutely refused to let anyone from outside Haven examine him. As an adult, he still turns away the occasional inquiry from an over-zealous cub reporter or medical student.)
He's never chewed his tongue to shreds, or damaged his eyes by rubbing them too hard. He's careful with cuts and scrapes, gets himself checked out regularly, but even when he doesn't he never seems to acquire the wounds that plague CIP sufferers. He doesn't get sick very often, but when the doctor says he has an ear infection he dutifully takes the meds and eventually he's told that it's cleared up.
The thing that makes him different (even more different) is that even if he forgets the meds, he's fine anyway. The cuts and scrapes heal without intervention and never turn red or send streaks up his arm. Burns fade without blistering and the occasional broken bone (a toe, usually, when he's dropped something on his feet) heals clean and without consequence. That went away when he wasn't afflicted and once again, he could feel every tiny hurt. He never minded the small pains, intimately knowing the alternative.
The correct word is "troubled," but that doesn't mean anything outside Haven. Even in Haven, it's not a word anyone wants to hear; the natives mutter about bad times or make the sign of the evil eye, especially the members of Ed Driscoll's church.
The reoccurrence of his affliction is deeply unsettling, not only for his own sake but for the town's. (Although. When it first happened, he was only seven and he was back to normal-whatever that means-before puberty hit. This time, he's an adult and fully aware of what he's missing, on all fronts. But Nathan's used to upholding the stoic, close-mouthed New England fa ade.) It means that the Troubles-capital T-are starting again. He doesn't recall the details from last time, too wrapped up in a kid's egocentric view of the universe and his own weirdness to pay much attention. These days, he's responsible for the town and its people, and it's looking like his duties are about involve a lot more than the occasional traffic incident and kittens in trees.
He doesn't know how to manage it. He doesn't have any idea what to expect, and the Chief is...not forthcoming about his past experiences. There's no guidebook for dealing with these things outside of comic books and speculative fiction, and Nathan remembers just enough to know that the real-life stories of the troubled in Haven don't fall into nice, neat happy endings. People were hurt, people died. Families fled from Haven, although oddly, many of them have filtered back into residence over the years. Life went on here after the Troubles before and Nathan supposes it will again-New Englanders being notorious for holding on to what's theirs, even unto destruction-but he can't help but wonder what the cost will be this time. He feels like a firefighter without any water, waiting for an invisible wildfire that's raging toward his town and lacking the tools to build a firebreak.
He'll just...have to stand in the way of whatever's coming. Looked at that way, his affliction's more blessing than curse; at least he won't be able to feel the damage. Nathan's not a poetic kind of guy and he doesn't much believe in destiny, but he wonders if that's the reason for his trouble: if he's meant to be a human barricade, to absorb whatever's being thrown at his town. He can live with that. Or die with it, if it comes to that.
For better or worse, weirdness and all, Haven is his town. He'll save it from itself, for as long as he can.
{end}