Hair of the Dog

It seemed as if this wretched place was finally starting to drive Charles mad. This disturbed him on several levels. First and foremost, he had sworn this place would not defeat him; he was, after all, a Winchester. Secondly, if he must go mad, he would have liked to know what specifically caused the madness. Could it be so simple as all the horrors of the OR, all the insufferable and inane antics of those around him, and the nearly constant and profound homesickness that he tried to mask, all adding up and finally managing to break him?

No, that seemed doubtful. He had endured all of that for long enough already, so it made little sense that it would break him now. So, why now did he seem to be losing his mind? It just didn’t make sense.

Whatever this was...Well, it would pass, and he would never think of it again. He tried not to think of it now, as though he could stop these intrusive thoughts and odd sensations just by ignoring and suppressing them.

Still, he couldn’t deny… Something had been very wrong with him when that round of wounded had come in. Were it anyone else perhaps he could chalk it up to nerves, but he was Charles Emerson Winchester III, and he didn’t get nerves, even if he was about to operate while still recovering from an injured arm. (He hadn’t at all forgotten that stunt, and he would see to it that he had his revenge on Pierce and Hunnicutt just as soon as he could devise the perfect plan for it.)

Whatever condition had befallen him, whatever bizarre episode it was, it had affected his ability to work, and his work was vitally important. Fortunately, he was able to pull through and do what needed to be done, and he did so without having to divulge his possible—if likely (hopefully) temporary—madness to anyone else. Still, he had been afraid; afraid that he was going mad, afraid that he’d be rendered unable to operate, afraid that he would fail, that he would cost them all numerous lives and let his friends down. These were fears he’d sooner choke on than express to anyone, but they were all too real.

The whole place was a place filled with fear, and it had never been clearer to him before then, before now. He had been afraid, and at the same time he had found himself strangely very aware of the feelings of those around him. Other doctors afraid of losing patients as he was, nurses, too, afraid of patients dying in spite of all their hard work, and the patients, dear God, the patients… Less so in the operating room where they were anesthetized, but the ones not yet put under and the ones waiting in triage, they were afraid for their very lives and for the lives of those around them.

This overwhelming horrified energy had never been so apparent before. Just as the reek of blood and sweat had never been so pungent. Something had happened to make Charles acutely, painfully aware of it all in a way he had never been before.

Even now the smell of everything and everyone in the camp was all too apparent. It had rendered the mess tent practically unbearable (and it had been bad enough before!) Strangely, despite his bunkmates and the relative squalor in which they kept the tent, his own quarters were a comfort to him; by all rights, they should have repulsed him, but the scent of organ-rotting swill and dirty laundry were not as off-putting as they should have been when amplified thusly. And if that wasn’t a sign that he was beginning to lose it, Charles didn’t know what was.

--

There was something different about Charles, and Hawkeye suspected he had some idea about what it was. Charles was playing it all close to his chest, all the odd and off-putting things he was almost certainly experiencing, but Hawkeye could tell something was up with him. He knew from experience.

Whenever the wounded came in, whenever they had to operate, Charles was overwhelmed in the same way Hawkeye had been; Hawkeye could sense it. He kept as close an eye on Charles as he could, and he wanted to help him somehow, knowing how hellish it was to take in all those terrible scents and feelings unexpectedly, but there was nothing he could really do.

Hawkeye had given up on coming up with an explanation. He had somehow transmitted whatever had been going on with him to Charles. Maybe he really was a werewolf, and maybe now Charles was too. Hell, he’d bitten him apparently! Or something had at least; just like something had bitten Hawkeye and started this whole mess. It was oddly the explanation that made the most sense, and that was basically why Hawkeye had given up on explanations at that time.

Whatever was going on had changed Charles profoundly (which meant it had changed Hawkeye profoundly as well, which was something he hadn’t considered in any real depth before.) It had changed him down to his most basic elements, and Hawkeye was sure of this because it had changed his scent. Sure, Charles still smelled like Charles, but there was something distinctly different about the way Charles smelled now. So whatever this was that was happening to them both, it caused some sort of physical change as well as a mental one.

Of course, he didn’t mention stuff like that to anyone else; it wouldn’t make any sense to them anyway. Although, he thought it best to mention his concerns—or at least some of them—to BJ, seeing as the guy had to live in small quarters with both him and Charles.

“Have you noticed anything different about Charles lately?” he began, looking around to make sure the man in question wasn’t anywhere within earshot (which if his hearing had gotten sharper like Hawkeye’s had meant he couldn’t be anywhere in or near the mess tent or he’d possibly overhear them.)

“Different?” BJ seemed slightly surprised by the question. “How?”

“I don’t know, just different,” Hawkeye responded, “Kinda… off.”

“Off? No, I hadn’t noticed,” BJ responded, “Why? What’s this about?”

Hawkeye idly sniffed a piece of what was supposed to be meatloaf. “Could be nothing.” It was probably not “nothing”, so he continued, “I just, I’ve got a feeling we should keep an eye on him. There’s something not quite right about the guy ever since what happened the other night, whatever it was that actually happened.”

--

Weeks went by, things that had been weird to Hawkeye before had become normal now. He shouldn’t have expected anything different really; that was how things always seemed to go in this place.

He continued to keep a close eye on Charles when he could. It was clear to him that Charles was going through the same thing he had. Whatever he was now, Charles was that, too.

He considered discussing the matter with Charles, but thus far hadn’t for two reasons. For one, he wasn’t really sure how to approach the subject, least of all with Charles. The whole thing was confusing and hard to put into words, and Hawkeye knew Charles would be an especially skeptical audience. Then, of course, there was reason number two, which was that Charles was still avoiding him, and when he couldn’t do that, he made it clear that he was still mad at Hawkeye. Whenever Hawkeye made any attempts to talk to him, he would brush him off or be highly dismissive.

He couldn’t help but wonder if Charles was blaming him for more than just the bite, if Charles had connected that incident to what was going on with him now. If he had, then that made his anger a bit more justified, Hawkeye supposed. He wondered if something like what had happened to him before would happen to Charles, whatever it was that had happened exactly.

Potter almost certainly thought that it was going to happen. Hawkeye had caught him watching Charles as well. It was probably only a matter of time before he decided to meet with them about the whole “werewolf” thing.

As it turned out, that time came about as soon as Hawkeye predicted it would. Potter found him in the Officer’s club having a few drinks with some of the others after a long day that they were hoping didn’t become a long night.

“Pierce, you got a minute? I’d like to talk with you in private,” the colonel requested.

Hawkeye gave BJ a parting glance before nodding. “Yeah, sure.” He followed the old man outside and then to his office.

Once he had made certain no one but Radar would possibly overhear them, Potter began to speak, “There’s a full moon coming up pretty soon.” He looked at Hawkeye as if Hawkeye was supposed to know what exactly this meant.

“Is there? I had no idea. Then again, I don’t really keep up with that sort of thing usually,” Hawkeye responded, as though Potter were just making small talk. He suspected he knew where the colonel was going with this, but he still found himself trying to stall the inevitable discussion.

Stopping him before he could start rambling, Potter said, “Well, you’re gonna have to start keeping up with it from now on. Anyway, we’ve got to figure out what to do with you and Winchester when the time comes, and I think I’ve come up with a plan.”

“So, you think Charles is a werewolf, too?” Hawkeye asked.

“Well, he was bitten by one, wasn’t he?” The colonel retorted.

“He has been different lately,” Hawkeye admitted.

“Ever since the last full moon, yes,” Potter said, “And I don’t want a repeat of last time, especially not with two of you.”

“So, what you’re telling me is that what happened to me a few weeks ago—”

“On the night of the last full moon,” Potter clarified.

“Yeah, what happened to me then is gonna happen again?” Hawkeye continued, “And it’s gonna happen to Charles, too?”

Last time he had felt like he was losing his mind, and when he had lost control of himself it had been a very frightening and painful experience, not to mention him blacking out and doing God knows what and ending up alone and naked in the middle of nowhere; the idea of going through any of that again made Hawkeye uneasy.

“Well, yes and no,” Potter replied, “You see, last time nobody knew what was going on, so when you changed you didn’t have anybody to help you and you didn’t know how to control yourself, but we can maybe do something about that now.” He paused, then added, “But you’ll still go through the change.”

“At my age? I thought I still had a few more childbearing years left,” Hawkeye quipped.

Potter ignored him. “The point is we can’t have the two of you running wild and endangering yourselves and everyone around you. So, we’re going to have to lock the two of you up until we can get you under control.”

Hawkeye didn’t like the sound of being locked up anywhere and especially not with Charles who was bound to be irate and in rare form, but then again he also didn’t fancy another night he couldn’t remember wherein he might hurt someone and then end up lost again. He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “Some plan you got there, Colonel.” He paused. “I guess I don’t really have a choice here though, do I?”

“‘Fraid not, son,” Potter replied with clear sympathy.

“How do you plan on getting Charles to play along exactly?” Hawkeye asked.

“I figure we’ll find a way to persuade him, one way or another,” Potter answered, confirming Hawkeye’s suspicion that use of rank-pulling or even outright force were a distinct possibility.

--

Not long after his discussion with Hawkeye, Potter summoned Charles to his office. He asked Hawkeye to sit in as well, although Hawkeye wasn’t sure why he was needed or what he could really contribute. Maybe given the circumstances Potter just liked it when they were both where he could see them.

“You, eh, wanted to speak with me, Colonel?” Charles said, as he entered Potter’s office. Noticing Hawkeye’s presence, he briefly turned his attentions to him, studying him silently.

“Yes, Major,” Potter replied, “have a seat.” After Charles had taken the seat beside Hawkeye in front of Potter’s desk, the old man continued, “I suppose you’re wondering why I asked you in here.”

“I must admit the question had crossed my mind, yes,” Charles said with a hint of sarcasm.

“Well, as you might remember, we had a bit of an incident in this camp several weeks ago involving Captains Pierce and Hunnicutt and yourself. An incident where you sustained an injury, a bite on the arm to be more precise.”

Reminded of the “incident” in question, Charles shot Hawkeye a glare. Returning his attention to Potter, he said, “Of course, sir. How could one forget such an, ah, ‘incident’?”

“And you might’ve noticed things are a little different since then. Maybe you feel different,” Potter continued.

Charles shifted uncomfortably. “I’m not sure what you mean, Colonel. There’s certainly nothing wrong with me, I assure you.”

“No, of course not,” Potter agreed, “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

“Then, what—?” Charles began again, but Potter cut him off.

“Look, I’m not gonna dance around the subject any longer. You’re a werewolf, Major Winchester.”

“A what? Colonel Potter, surely I have misheard you, did you just say—?”

“You heard right. You’re a werewolf,” Potter said, “Pierce is a werewolf, thanks to some forgotten shenanigans in Tokyo, and under the last full moon he bit you, making you a werewolf.”

Charles looked from Hawkeye to Potter before finally sneering, “Very funny, gentlemen. Really? Werewolves? Is this the best you can come up with? Trying to frighten me with fairy tales?”

“Major Winchester,” Potter responded testily, his patience clearly pushed too far, “I don’t take kindly to being mocked, particularly when I’m not in on any joke.”

“Trust me, Charles, he’s serious,” Hawkeye interjected at last.

“And you,” Charles said sharply, “Why should I believe anything you say?”

“Right, because you still think I somehow smuggled a wild animal into our tent and then feigned ignorance about the whole thing,” Hawkeye scoffed.

“Enough!” Potter bellowed, silencing them. Once he had their attention again, he continued, “Now believe it or don’t believe it, either way we’ve gotta deal with it or we’ll have another situation on our hands just like the last time only worse.” From there, Potter explained his plan for the next full moon to Charles just as he had to Hawkeye.

Once he finished, Charles weakly tried to object. “But, Colonel, surely—”

“That’ll be all, Major Winchester. Dismissed,” Potter commanded sternly.

Assuming the colonel meant both of them, Hawkeye left right behind a clearly flustered and frustrated Charles.