Evan Peters Imagines

Healer-Jimmy

Writing Prompt: You're a local healer, and your people love you. Sadly, you don't truly heal wounds, but only transfer them. The people in the valley know you as a different name."

Summary: You join the Freak Show, offering your healer services for easy money.

I wrote this then I forgot about the second part so I tried my best to fix it.

I'm a healer. My family called me Doctor as a joke. All I did was wave my hands and every cut would close and mend together in seconds. When I visited a family friend's grandmother a few miles outside of town, I noticed that she had a cut in the exact same place where I healed one from the girl next door. When Grandma opened her mouth and told them about my 'gift', they ran me out of town and forbade me from coming back. I sat alone in the row of seats on the train and felt terrible. I was giving innocent people cuts and ulcers which would appear and heal slowly, like normal. Ever since I met them, I stopped healing as much, claiming that it was all a mind trick.

On my 17th birthday, I was working in Atlanta, Georgia when Molly, my coworker, sliced her hand open when cutting lettuce. Panicking, I waved my hands over her wound, the skin mending together and the blood stopping. She watched in amazement as I uncovered her hand, tossing the towel in the garbage can. Her skin was fine, a thin scar instead of an open wound.

Suddenly, I was getting letters addressed to me at the diner. The senders asking me to help heal their wounds. A letter caught me attention. It was from Fräulein Elsa herself, asking me to join her show, The following week, I left for Jupiter. With help from the locals, I found the Freak Show, "Fräulein Elsa's Cabinet of Curiosities", a few miles out of town. I tentatively walked through the clown's mouth into the big top.

"Hello?" I called out. With no answer, I turned around. I walked back through the clown mouth.

The camp looked deserted, bare, dead. I considered leaving and going home.

"You're not supposed to be back here."

I whipped around to see a short woman, her chin covered with a thin beard.

"I-I was just looking for the owner, ringleader. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to call her," I stuttered. The sun burned on my bare shoulders the longer I stayed in the sun. The woman motioned for me to follow her. My flats made small dust clouds as I stepped, my ankles covered with a thin layer of yellow dust by the time we made it to Elsa's large tent. The woman instructed me to stay out of the tent before going in herself.

Elsa made her way out of the tent. It was probably noon by now, but she still wore her nightgown and a long, satin robe. I smiled as she looked me up and down.

"Who are you?" She asked, fiddling with the cigarette between her fingers.

"I'm Y/N, ma'am," I swallowed nervously, "you sent me a letter."

"And what do you do?" She asked, scanning over the letter and seeming to suddenly remember me. She had a thick German accent which I wasn't expecting.

"I'm a healer, or that's what my mother called me."

"We don't need a doctor, there's a good one in town." She turned to walk away from me.

"Do you have a knife?" I asked. She pulled one from her pocket. I dug the blade in her hand, the blood trickling into the dirt.

"You-"

I shushed her and hovered my hands over hers, the cut disappearing. I knew it was wrong, but I could make good money, whether I would take it all was a mystery.

She examined her hand, "Ethel," She smiled, "She can share a tent for now."

I smiled and followed Ethel as she led me to a tent with two beds. She told me that I would be sharing a tent with Ma Petite. I set my bag on the more or less empty bed. I sat down, wondering what exactly I got myself into.

I explored the camp, sitting where I assume they ate. I started reading a book, a collection of Shakespeare's sonnets that I picked up on the way into Jupiter.

"Who are you?" a man asked. He had short arms with tattoos on his arms and neck.

"Y/N, I'm uh, new."

"Beautiful name, I'm Paul." He held a hand out for me to shake. Not exactly sure what to do, I shook it as I would shake a normal hand. He let out a chuckle, leaving me alone again. I read the sonnets, whispering them quietly to myself. Music emitted from the main tent, but I ignored it.

"Hey, you shouldn't be back here."

I whipped around to find a tall boy walking towards me. I stood up and clutched my book to my chest. My knees were against the wooden bench which kept them from shaking.

"I'm Y/N, I thought Elsa would've told you all about me."

He looked me up and down, "Unless you have a schlong under that dress, I don't think you're a good fit."

"She assured me I did." I panicked and picked up a knife. He held his hands up, and for the first time, I noticed he was wearing leather mittens. No one made the choice of wearing gloves like that in the dead heat of summer.

"I know this sounds odd, but cut yourself," I set the knife down on the table, moving away.

"Why?"

"Just a nick, or something and you'll see why I belong here."

He looked at me oddly and slid his mittens off. His hands caught me off guard, but I understood why he had them on. A condition like that isn't widely accepted. Instead of grabbing the knife, I scratched him with my nail. He let out a hiss as blood seeped out. I grasped his hand in mine, letting it go when I finished. He stared in awe, his red hair curled over his forehead. He held his hand out for me to shake.

"I'm Jimmy. Welcome to the Freak Show."