Fallout X Reader One Shots

John Hancock ➵ Junkie

John Hancock
Fallout 4
Warning: Gore, Drug Use, Cursing

To put it shortly, Pickman's Gallery was hell.

I gasped in air as I ran through the Main Building's doors. I clambered up the stairs, and burst through the double doors. I slammed them behind me, and huffed. Strands of bloodied hair hung in front of my eyes, and blood poured from a cut in my arm. I gulped in air. I had ran all the way here. Almost two miles of sprinting, guns firing wildly behind me.

Nick stood up and came to my side as quickly as possible, Hancock followed. Nick seemed anxious, "What did you find?"

"There was..." I panted, "Give me a second." I tried to walk, and stumbled to a stop, standing drunkenly. I blinked as spots blurred my vision. I whistled and whispered to myself, "I'm okay."

Hancock frowned, "Are you sure? You look like you're about to pass out."

"Yeah, you might want to catch me." I fell to the side as my knees gave, making both men stumble to catch me. I faded in and out of consciousness. Hancock bit his lip and looked at the door, "Stay here. I'm gonna go grab the doctor." He dug a fist into one of his pockets, spilled numerous drugs onto Nicks lap, then bolted.

Nick picked up a small thing of Mentats, opened it, and made me swallow one. I felt my feet go numb and giggled subconsciously. After a few minutes of me sitting up and making Nick push me back down, Hancock returned. Nick stood up, "Where's the doctor?"

"I'm not sure. But I snagged some of his medical equipment. Step out for a sec, Nicky. Lemme take care of it. I used to do medical... stuff."

"Medical stuff. That's reassuring." Even in my current condition, I could hear the sarcasm. I held up a woozy hand, "Go to Diamond City, Nick. I'll come pick you up when I'm better. Pinkie promise." I held out a pinkie, and he stared at it, before throwing up his hands helplessly and leaving. Hancock sat in Nick's chair, placing all the medical stuff on the table. He looked at the unused drugs and the single open box of Mentats.

He chuckled, "Synth doesn't know shit." He handed me some Jet, "Huff on that for a while, babe. It'll numb you enough to make this tolerable." I took it, and inhaled, then watched the smoke curl towards the ceiling and then unfurl like a blossoming flower. If the bomb hadn't wiped them all out, that is. I would kill for a flower. Literally. I sat up a little bit.

I was a wreck. I tried to recall what happened. I went to Pickman's Gallery. I saw his paintings, and the corpses that he used as his canvas and as his paint. Raiders came at me. I killed them. There were more. They almost killed me. That's pretty much it. I sighed. Hancock looked at me as he opened a container of rubbing alcohol, "You know you said all of that out loud, right?"

I lay down, throwing my good arm over my forehead dramatically, "Tell it to me straight, doc." I straightened out my leg and held it in the air, posing as cliché as I could through the pain.

He smiled a little and pushed my leg down easily, "I'll explain later so you don't pass out from the thought." He turned the bottle upside down, pushing a cloth to the opening, wetting it. He sighed, contemplating, "This is gonna sting a little, ok?" He held out his left forearm, "Just grab my arm if it gets to bad."

I nodded, "It won't be that bad."

He looked at me worriedly, and pushed the cloth to a bloody spot on my leg. I yelped, grabbing his arm in agony. I yelled numerous curses, and he whispered some of his own as his left hand curled into a fist. He muttered apology after apology. After five minutes of pure pain, my legs and ribs were patched up. He made me sit up, and prop my feet on the table. He handed me another container of Jet. I looked at him questioningly. He held up a warmly watered cloth, "For your arm."

I frowned, "What arm?" He looked at my cut, then to me. I let out a dumb laugh, "Oh! That arm." I did my best Scottish accent, "It's ok, Cap'n. I can take the heat!"

He rolled his eyes, "No more drugs for you today." He picked up some Med-X, injected it into his arm, and frowned a little. I looked at him, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. It's just got a kick. Helps keep my hands steady." He held a needle and thread. I knew what he was going to do. I laughed nervously, "You can't be serious. Don't you have any anesthetic or anything?"

"Not a single drop. Trust me, if we did, I'd use the rest of it on this right here."

"Well, give me something. I'm not gonna take this shit raw."

He sighed, and walked across the room. He grabbed something from a safe, and returned to me, handing over a soda bottle with numerous tubes coming out from the sides. He held up a thinner tube with a needle, "This nerve-buster is called Turbo. If I put this needle in your arm, it'll send waves through your body, and you'll black out long enough for me to sew you up. Do you want that?"

I nodded and he stuck the needle in my arm skillfully. Thank god the mayor of Goodneighbor is a junkie. I couldn't have done this on my own. I immediately felt tired. Hancock looked at me as he started tying the thread through the loop of the needle, "Just talk to me until you fall asleep. Tell me what you saw at the Gallery."

"I remember there were Raiders I'd overheard, who were planning on taking out Pickman on their own. Pickman is... was a psychopath. And calling someone a psychopath after what I've witnessed... that's something. Anyways, he used human body parts and... fluids to make paintings, which, to be frank, weren't even all that good for someone who considered himself an artist." I rattled off all of the gory details to Hancock, until my eyes shut and I couldn't feel myself speaking anymore.

Author's Note
Hope you enjoyed!! Any requests??