John's feelings toward his injury change over time
TW: period typical internalized ableism, discussion of (subtle and blatant) ableism
Meg returned from the Moffats' house full of chatter, the crisp fall air putting a flush on her cheeks.
John smiled and listened to her stories, though descriptions of the Moffat house were not his favorites. They sounded like something out of Meg's fancies as a girl, things he wished he could give her. An expansive garden full of flowers. The silk dress. A new pair of gloves every year. A bonnet in the latest style.
Sometimes the intrusive thought slipped in: she would rather be Ned Moffat's wife.
Those were foolish thoughts, he told himself. He would not think his wife so shallow that she would choose another man over him simply for his money. That would be an insult to her, not just to him.
The look on Meg's face when the daisies by the front step bloomed reassured him, as did the way she spun around in her simple dresses, dancing with him in their sitting room as if they were at a ball, her eyes on him, adoring as if he were the prince charming sweeping her off her feet. (As if he wasn't broken.) The way she told him of her visits without a trace of jealousy in her voice or face.
He could tell that she was truly satisfied with their little home. With the soft linens that brought to mind their wedding day, the knickknacks her family had brought over in every corner, love that filled the place to bursting.
No, she would not choose another man over him for money, he could be completely and entirely sure of that. She had truly grown to appreciate more than that.
So those thoughts faded over the months and the years.
What doesn't fade are the pains in his leg from the old war wound.
Well, where his leg used to be. Just below his knee was a fake leg strapped to him.
He never did regain his full ability, even with the prosthetic. He still walked with a limp, and couldn't be on his feet for as long. The stump of his useless leg would begin to ache, the straps would chafe against his skin, and it was always a relief to be able to remove it at the end of the day.
On the rare occasions that he did see Ned Moffat, something in his chest always twisted to see his graceful gait, the gait of two fully functioning legs.
All of Ned's money couldn't make John happier than he was already, but... he was the picture of good health. And John could never have that. (If he were to choose one thing, he wouldn't hesitate, the answer would be right there on the tip of his tongue.)
Sometimes he kept Meg awake with the pain in the night. She refused to turn over and go to sleep until he felt better. She tried to wrap the stump in different ways to reduce the discomfort of the straps, but nothing was foolproof.
He felt so weak, sitting on the edge of the bed as she rubbed salve into the red, irritated skin.
"I can do it myself, you know. You need your rest."
"I know." She didn't stop her work. "I want to. You know it's easier for me to sleep when you hold me. And you can't come hold me until this is done." It was a flimsy excuse.
"Meg, dove-"
"Will you let me help you, John?"
He couldn't say no to that face. His love for her outweighed his hatred of accepting help.
He stopped using the crutch too soon after the incident and struggled until he could nearly walk the way he used to. He just had to toughen up, he told himself. Like a bird tossing itself out of the nest and hoping to be ready, he would build up strength as he went in the open sky instead of hopping feebly along the branch.
He thought he would have built up enough strength in that way, but his leg had still given out that day, out in the front yard. He remembered clinging to that fence post like it was a buoy in the middle of the ocean, trying to regain his composure when he heard footsteps coming fast up the road.
"John, are you alright?"
Jo's low, concerned voice.
"Fine, fine, I'm fine." John tried to let go of the fence post but ended up clutching it even harder.
"Let's get you inside." He found himself being hoisted up, Jo's arm looped around his middle to prop him up. His face burned with embarrassment.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be." She helped him up the steps.
"I am."
"Listen, John," Jo stopped on the porch to brush off his shirt, flicking off small splinters from the rough fence post, "you aren't alone. You don't have to act as if you are. Now come in, Father can take a look at it if something's wrong."
"It's too much trouble."
"Nonsense, he-"
"Jo, it's too much trouble."
She paused. John's voice sounded raw in a way she'd never heard her even-tempered brother-in-law sound.
"It feels as if it's too much. And I am not enough. Not anymore."
What he was trying to say came out jumbled, and Jo made herself look at his eyes for an answer instead. It was one of those rare moments when the eyes were more easy to read than the words.
"Oh. No, John, you're enough. Trust me, there isn't a single one of us who thinks otherwise. You don't... talk like this in front of Meg, do you?"
"I- no. But I feel awful. I make her worry, and- you would tell me if she wanted to call off the wedding, right?" John clutched Jo's arms, and she looked a little alarmed.
"She doesn't, it's all she can talk about. I would, if she did,- she would tell you herself. But you have to listen, John, she loves you. She thinks you're the most amazing thing to walk this earth, no matter how many legs you're walking it on."
"What if she changes her mind?"
Jo scoffed, attempting to look breezy and nonchalant. "She can be nearly as stubborn as me. Meg is not changing her mind. She doesn't think any less of you for what happened. None of us do. How could we, when you were so brave to go and fight?"
He didn't feel brave. Not anymore. He had been until he realized what had happened and crumbled like a sand castle under a rising tide. He had begged and prayed and cried as he bit down on his sleeve.
They hadn't held the chloroform to his face quite long enough, he was coming to much too early.
He saw more than he should have.
He hadn't been brave about it at all as it sank in that he would never be the same.
"And John?"
He was pulled back into the present by Jo's hand on his shoulder. "If you need to start using the crutch again, use it. Don't be ashamed."
He had nodded then. But he continued to avoid using the crutch whenever he could.
It took him years for the shame to fade. When it started to, he felt lighter.
The missing limb began to seem normal. The new normal anyways. It was hardly mentioned anymore. He learned to maneuver with it. The family stopped looking so concerned all the time when it came to stairs. He stopped trying to keep up appearances in his own living room in the evening and took it off to sit and read the paper, leaning it against the side of the chair.
Demi, after learning how to walk on his two legs, was determined to learn to walk on just one as well. "Like Papa, see? See?"
He would deny that his glasses became foggy, but Meg knew they did.
Meeting new people was always a toss-up. Pity became tedious, and when other men thought less of him, it was frustrating. Having to prove himself capable to new acquaintances was emotionally tiring.
But of course, there was the other side of the coin, when things worked out perfectly well. When the new acquaintance didn't bat an eye at the crutch, or the way his pant leg on one side was half empty and folded oddly. Jo's new 'friend' (the man she fancied, really. Honestly, did she take all of them for fools?) didn't slow down as they walked side by side, keeping at the steady pace they had established, trusting that if he needed to slow down, he would ask.
In other words, some people treated him like he was normal.
Surrounded by the love of his family, John slowly started to feel less and less like a freak and more... like Jo had said: enough.