Work Text:
The fourth time young John Sheppard woke up in the hospital, recovering from concussion complicated by contact pneumonia, Sally-the-nurse told him cheerfully, "Well, that settles it. You were born to be hanged." He blinked at her from pain-fogged eyes, and she explained, "That means that Destiny has a death already arranged for you, and you won't die of anything else until then."
He'd been dragged in this time from the concrete swimming pool that Scotty had almost been thrown into, after knocking the bullies aside long enough to distract them from the smaller boy but falling into the three feet of chilled water himself. His father, John thought bleakly, wouldn't believe a word of it. As usual.
Didn't matter. That "born to be hanged" thing sounded about right. He was never going to live a normal life; if Destiny meant for him to die saving someone's life, he was cool with that. And if he was meant to die some other way - and saving other people's lives didn't cost him his - then that was good too.
John coughed weakly, and settled back to recover. Again.