Work Text:
Radar used to think everyone could see the lines of magic that connected everything to everything else. That was how you knew when the harvest was ready, or when a storm was coming that was so bad you needed to go down to the cellar. It was how you knew what animals wanted when they came to your doorstep; sometimes help, always food.
And now, it was how he knew when the choppers were coming. The sky was criss-crossed with spidery red wires most days, and nobody else could see them.
That was, except for Captain McIntyre.
Well, he couldn't see them. But he could smell them, which was close enough not to matter.
Trapper had more magic in him than just about anyone else Radar had ever met, which would have been a good thing if he was in Iowa keeping other foxes from eating his chickens and was no good just about anywhere else. It scared people, when you had magic like that. It sure scared Major Burns, even though he couldn't see the pale purple fingerprints everyone—not just Radar—left behind when they touched an envelope.
'Cause magic was all about intent, when it came right down to it. Radar wanted to know when the wounded were coming, so something drew great red lines across the sky for him like the rings of Saturn he'd seen in a science-fiction magazine. He wanted to know who was sending what mail and if anyone has tampered with it, so pale purple fingerprints bloomed on every scrap of paper, and some shard of something deep in his mind told him whose were whose. He wanted to know more about Captain McIntyre, and his ears and tail and eyes lit up like the Christmas tree at the Veterans' Association in downtown Ottumwa, and Radar could see that whenever he'd become what he was, the fox who'd did it had only meant it as a gift.
He wanted to talk more to Trapper about all that, but he didn't take too well to people asking him about his condition. He barely put up with Hawkeye doing it, and the lines that connected them were so tangled together that Radar thought you'd probably need a seam ripper if you ever wanted to get them apart.
But there were other people with magic. Patients were coming through all the time, and some of them were like him, and some of them were like Trapper, and some of them weren't like anyone he'd ever met before.
He sort of figured maybe he could get to know himself better if he talked to some of them.
I - THE CAT
Radar had never thought a gal with whiskers could be so pretty.
She was calico, and more distinctly a cat than Trapper was a fox, which was saying something. She was a nurse at the 8053rd, practically all the way across Korea, but she'd been on her way to visit with Trapper and discuss low-dexterity operating room techniques when her driver got shot by a sniper. She had a broken collarbone, a broken tail, and some glass shrapnel in her side from the windshield when someone found her and decided she oughta go to the MASH unit with the fox-doctor to get patched up.
Nobody had told Radar that. He just knew it. Sometimes the truth was floating in the air for anyone who wanted to turn it until they could read it.
He also knew her name was Lieutenant Grace McNamera, she was only twenty years old, and her tail was starting to hurt something fierce.
Radar took his thumbnail out of his mouth just long enough to tap Nurse Dish on the shoulder. "Lieutenant Dish, ma'am? You know I hate to bother you 'cause you're on duty and everything, but-"
Dish grabbed him and gave him a noogie. "Spit it out, Radar!"
"Aw, gee, let go'a me, would ya?"
She biffed his hat with the palm of her hand. "You're too like my kid brother. What's wrong?"
"Well, uh… bed three, her tail hurts pretty bad."
Maybe it wasn't the best idea to tell Nurse Dish, but Radar thought she'd probably be better about it than Major Houlihan. The Major didn't like anyone with magic much at all. Dish just thought that maybe she could talk Trapper into letting her pet him one day.
"I'll check in on her," she said. "Thanks, Radar."
Radar watched the slack thread between Nurse Dish and Lieutenant McNamera pull tight, just for a moment. It strained like a horse pulling its lead. It didn't mean anything good.
He followed a few steps behind, straightening his hat from how Dish had messed it up. Lieutenant McNamera's whiskers twitched as she slowly stirred from her sleep and scented the air.
Her eyes landed on Radar. They were bright yellow and scared.
"Don't worry if you can't talk English so good right now," Radar whispered. "I speak cat, so's I can tell Lieutenant Dish what you say you need and then she can know what you need because you said it."
McNamera pulled her blanket further up her chest with her good arm. "I don't need anything," she hissed. The magic around her shifted and warped, sticking to the ends of her whiskers when she spoke. More of it burned Radar's sinuses. "Not from a witch."
"I'm not a witch!" he protested. "I just listen good, honest."
McNamera lashed her tail, winced, and hissed as she settled back into her bed, something in her loosening with the pain. "I want the doctor." Her eyes narrowed, slitting eyelids instead of just pupils. "Would you trust a full human?"
It wasn't the best news to need to pass along. "She wants Dr. McIntyre to give her the morphine shot," Radar told Nurse Dish.
Dish startled. She'd been thinking exactly the same thing Radar had been thinking when he checked on Lieutenant McNamera; it was awful impressive a gal with whiskers could be so pretty.
"He won't be on duty for another two hours," Dish said. "He's busy."
Radar had already traced the line to the Swamp; "He and Hawkeye are stuffing Major Burns' pillow with fur, they ain't busy."
More of the lines criss-crossing the room tensed, then slackened. Major Houlihan was off to tell Major Burns what she'd just overheard Radar say, and then they'd chew Hawkeye and Trapper out for it, but not if Nurse Dish went and got Trapper right now, which she was on her way to do.
Radar had to sit down on the empty bed next to Lieutenant McNamera before he got tangled up. He knew he was awful important to making sure the hospital ran smoothly, but it was a lot more exhausting when there were so many people in one place instead of just his Ma and Uncle Ed and his brother and the animals.
Lieutenant McNamera made a soft chirp for his attention. "You aren't a witch?"
"I don't think witches are real, are they?"
"That's what a witch would say." Her whiskers twitched again, good-humoredly. "I'm sorry for snapping. The cat doesn't like being out in the open like this. Your name is Radar?"
"Oh, well, I'm Walter, but everyone calls me Radar 'cause-"
"Because you're a witch."
"I'm not a witch!"
Lieutenant McNamera snickered and purred at the same time. "When did your curse run out?" She tapped the thin scar on the inside of one of her elbows with her claws, where they'd taken the nerve biopsy to tell her how long her curse would last. Radar didn't have one of those, because everyone in Ottumwa knew the O'Reillys could see magic without testing them for it.
"Oh, no. Dr. McIntyre says I got an attunement. My whole family's like me."
Her ears twitched. "You smell like cat."
"Yeah, and Dr. McIntyre thinks I smell like fox." Radar shrugged, keeping half an eye on when Nurse Dish would come back so Lieutenant McNamera could stop hurting. "I think I sorta smell like whoever's doing the smelling."
"Huh."
Radar scrambled up and got out of the way just as Trapper and Hawkeye darted into post-op with Nurse Dish and locked the door behind them so the Majors couldn't follow them. Trapper was chattering to himself, and his tail was so bushed up he looked like a dust mop.
He could feel Lieutenant McNamera's eyes on him even when he left the room to go give Colonel Blake the phone that was about to ring.
Maybe he was a witch.
II - THE WITCH
Radar knew the second he locked eyes with Private Dayton that they'd been the ones tripping over each other's brain's feet all day. He was wounded, like almost everyone new Radar met, and it was bad enough he'd get to go home. Radar was pretty sure he knew he was gonna go home, 'cause he'd seen the threads attached to the doctors going taut and slack all day.
His name was Harley Dayton, he was from Stillwater, Oklahoma, and he knew when the bombs were coming same as Radar did, but it hadn't stopped him from getting a leg blown off because otherwise a bunch of other people would have died.
Radar cautiously borrowed the chair Major Burns had been using and pulled it to Private Dayton's bedside. "Do you mind-"
"Hey, sure shootin'-"
"Gosh, I never-"
"-met anyone like me, yeah?" Private Dayton laughed, rich and warm but nervous the same way Radar was. "What's Iowa like?"
Mountains, prairie grass, sunsets over campus, creek, brother,
"A lot like Oklahoma, except we don't got the mountains," Radar shrugged. "And I live with my Ma and Uncle Ed where we got a farm with- with corn and cows and everything."
Why couldn't he touch it the same as he'd touched Stillwater, Oklahoma? He knew one better than the other. It should have been easy.
Private Dayton poked him. "You must get headaches like nothin' else here."
"Yeah. And I get everyone else's headaches, too."
III - THE CRANE
Even with every new curse patient getting routed through the 4077th, it wasn't often you saw someone who wasn't completely a mammal anymore. It seemed like it was harder for the things that made people other things to make them things that were more different from what they were originally. There were lots of new bears and wolves and dholes at the 4077th, but way fewer salamanders or eagles.
The guy Trapper was evaluating in the Swamp while Radar took notes—Private Tom Carver, who was only seventeen only he wasn't gonna let anyone know that—wouldn't stop picking at the bright red feathers that shot through his hair from his temples all the way to the back of his head. He had more in other places, like black ones along his neck and white ones down the undersides of his arms, and black tail feathers he wasn't gonna admit to anyone, neither.
"You gotta stop that," Trapper half-growled at him, yanking his hands away from his head again just a little too hard. "You ain't gonna keep 'em from growin' back."
Maybe Trapper could smell how angry Private Carver was at what had happened to him the way Radar could see it. The lines between all three of them were tense and angry, almost smoking with energy. It made Radar feel sick to his stomach.
Carver batted Trapper away, a low hiss in his throat. "Get your goddamn paws off'a me!"
"You call my hands paws one more time–"
"Sendin' me to a farm just 'cause–"
Trapper turned to Radar, desperation in his backlit eyes. "Radar, would ya–"
"Oh, no, sir! Last time I did that for you, I was sick for a week, and all my animals were mad at me!"
That was what you got for tampering with natural magic if you weren't natural like it was. Just because Radar had a pair of scissors in his brain didn't mean they were supposed to be used for cutting the pearly thread of anger dripping between Trapper and Private Carver.
"Radar," Trapper hissed.
"I can say no to you!"
Trapper looked like he was about to argue, but then he went back to trying to get Private Carver's hands away from his feathers, tail lashing. "You put 'uncooperative' on his eval sheet, I'll smack ya."
Fear, lonely, stranger, bad, punish,
"I wasn't gonna, sir."
If Radar was honest, he didn't much like that Trapper and Hawkeye thought it was right for him to fiddle around with people's emotions if it was good for them. There were sedatives for that, and if there weren't, then Hawkeye was an expert weaver even without being able to see the threads, and it didn't make him throw up to cut them, neither.
Thinking of Hawkeye, Radar could feel the ripples that meant he was coming back to the Swamp from halfway across the camp. He slunk through the door, ruffled Trapper's hair between his ears so his ears flattened in annoyance, and collapsed into his cot. "How's it going?" He didn't look while both Trapper and Private Carver bored angry holes into him with their eyes, pouring himself a glass of what he liked to pretend was gin instead.
Hawkeye pointed at Private Carver with a toothpick before he put it in an olive. "Do you remember when you first started growing a beard? Probably shaved because it grew back thicker, right?" He swirled the olive in his drink, considered it, and popped it in his mouth. "But keep picking out those down feathers, I could use a new pillow."
Private Carver sighed as the tension dripped off the carefully clipped thread of anger. He was still scratching, but at least he wasn't picking anymore.
"Just don't touch me if you don't hafta, huh?"
Trapper sighed, grabbed his arm, and lifted it to inspect his feathers.
IV - THE LYNX
Radar lost track of how many animals he'd helped over the years a long time ago. Back at home, it was as simple as feeling when one of the cows needed their hooves trimmed, or that Ranger had a stomachache, or to hold out his hands so a hummingbird could take a rest while she was drinking from Ma's tobacco flowers.
Here, a lot of things came to him if they needed help. He'd fed plenty of hungry hares and hedgehogs, and even the occasional deer. Sometimes he brushed fleas out of their coats and carefully tweezed ticks out from between their toes.
The not-so-big cat peering at him around the corner of the mess tent didn't want help in any of those ways. She was scared, was all. She'd gotten bombed out of her home and didn't know where to go, but someone had drawn red lines across the sky to trace the choppers and she was plenty smart enough to follow them to somewhere she'd be able to rest.
She was exhausted; she didn't protest when Radar picked her up so he could leave her with the other animals while he went to find her something that she'd want to eat.
At least, she wouldn't have protested if he hadn't run straight into Colonel Blake.
The Colonel's eyes went all big when he saw the lynx in Radar's arms. "Radar, I swear to criminy, if you're planning on keeping that thing–"
"Oh, no, sir. She just wants some food and maybe to bunk down overnight."
The Colonel sighed. He was on his way to play some golf with Hawkeye, and that meant he was less patient than usual for things he didn't understand. "Just keep it away from McIntyre, there's a good boy."
Radar didn't know what Trapper had to do with it—he liked all of Radar's animals just fine, and even watched the rabbits sometimes when he was bored—but maybe the lynx wouldn't like Trapper so much.
Colonel Blake took a step back when the lynx squirmed in Radar's arms. "What the hell is that thing, anyway?"
"A bobcat, sir."
"Don't get bit."
"I won't, sir."
When Radar set her down with the rest of his animals, she eagerly got up on her hind legs to sniff at the rabbit kennels. That wasn't any harm, so long as she didn't break into them, and she wouldn't before he'd come back with the liver they were serving in the mess tent today.
Mostly he just hoped Klinger didn't find her before he got back, because he'd have a joke about turning her into a stole ready to go, and that would just make everyone uncomfortable.
V - THE BUCK
Not everyone who ended up wounded in post-op was there because they'd gotten wounded fighting. Sometimes it was stuff like sprained ankles from falling down in a foxhole or a couple days of rest for someone who'd overworked themselves until they collapsed.
Corporal Richard Walker—who wasn't even a soldier proper, but a clerk like Radar—was there because he'd scratched his cornea with a splinter trying to get the velvet off his antlers against a tree.
It was nice not to have to talk about fighting and soldiering while Radar was trying to cheer him up. Maybe that wasn't one of the responsibilities he got paid for, but it was good to keep the guys in post-op from being too miserable. Otherwise it started messing with his phone reception.
Even talking to him—about home and Ma and the way a good garden bloomed in the spring—Corporal Walker couldn't stop picking at the velvet peeling off his antlers, which thankfully weren't big enough to cause any issues sitting or laying down. There was a thread there, bright and happy yellow, that wrapped around Radar and the Corporal and Hawkeye.
So Radar excused himself and tugged on the sleeve of Hawkeye's lab coat. "Hawkeye, you got any ideas if we could make Corporal Walker in bed six a little more comfortable?"
Hawkeye shrugged, barely looking up from the chart he was setting up a game of hangman on the back of. "How am I supposed to know? You're the guy who's been talking to him. Come on, pick a letter."
"I come to you askin' for help and–"
"Alright, alright!" Hawkeye tossed down the chart—the word was lidocaine, anyway, though Radar didn't know what it meant—and scanned the ward for bed six. "Itchy?"
"Uncomfortable, mostly, sir."
"Lend you Frank's nail brush from the scrub room."
"I'll get in trouble!"
Hawkeye grinned and ruffled Radar's hair through his hat as he stood. "Kidding! Kidding, Radar, kidding, I'll get you mine. Just don't lose it."
"I don't lose stuff, sir."
"Good for you, I lost my marbles ages ago."
It only took about thirty seconds for Hawkeye to come back with his brush, still damp from operating earlier in the day. Radar took it and scurried back to Corporal Walker's bedside before Hawkeye could do anything else embarrassing to him like he was planning on.
Radar held up the brush to show Walker. "You wanna do it or do you want me to?"
Corporal Walker blushed a little, but he dipped his head, letting Radar get a better angle at his antlers and see the spotted brown fur that started at the nape of his neck and disappeared under his robe.
Maybe it wasn't exactly like trimming a cow's hoof or nothing, especially because Walker could hold still and not get riled up 'cause there was something unfamiliar coming after him, but Radar figured he had a pretty good idea where to start.
He held Walker gently by the chin, swiped the brush across his pant leg a few times to get a feel for it, and went to work scraping off his velvet.
VI - THE FOX
It was easy to tell when Trapper had a bad day. Not even just because his anger bled out of him in such waves that his footprints turned a bright, sickly green, but because he almost always ended up burrowed in Radar's cot where nobody would think to look for him.
He was there now, completely covered by the blanket he'd brought with him from the Swamp, tail occasionally twitching as he growled to himself.
Radar didn't usually mind, except it was past both their bedtimes. "Sir, can I at least have my bear back?"
The blanket lifted just long enough for Radar's teddy bear to come skittering across the floor to rest at his feet, accompanied by another low growl.
"If Major Burns is givin' you a lotta static, I can–"
"It ain't Frank," Trapper muttered, the first proper words he'd said since he came to hide. His ears popped out from beneath the blanket, twitched, and were followed shortly by his glowing eyes in the half-light of Radar's office. "You oughta know that."
Radar shrugged and looked away. "You smell when I'm… you know, lookin' at you?"
"Don't stop you from doin' it."
"I can't help it! If someone told you not to smell them, would you be able not to? I can't even put a clothespin on it."
Trapper sighed and set his head back down on Radar's pillow. "I don't wanna talk about it, so you better work your magic."
New, pretty, pet, keep,
"I can talk to Major Houlihan about gettin' Lieutenant Simmons transferred out if she ain't gonna be nice to you."
"Oh, she's nice," Trapper drawled. "Buttered me up until I thought we were gonna have a good time, then what? Asks me to bark for her." Trapper huffed and recollected his blanket around him, trying to keep his tail from lashing it off. "Be like gettin' you in bed and askin' the lottery numbers."
"You made me rig the slot machines!"
Trapper's teeth flashed in the dark. "Yeah, but I split the winnin's with ya." Trapper yawned, then flicked his tongue over his canines. "You ever wish you weren't like this, Radar?"
Trapper, Radar knew, had a lot of feelings about being the way he was. He couldn't remember anything else, but he wished he could. He didn't want to be any other way, but he hated the way people treated him because of it. Sometimes he even wished he'd been born like it instead of made into it, because then he wouldn't feel stupid for doing it to himself.
Radar laughed. "That's like askin' if I'd wanna go blind just 'cause everyone else is."
Trapper grinned. "Callin' me blind while you got those glasses; that's rich."
The anger started to fade back to Trapper's usual, Army-green irritation. It always made Radar feel good, getting Trapper or Hawkeye to stop being so angry at everything around them. It was the least he could do when they had so much responsibility.
"Trade you my glasses for your ears," Radar offered.
"Who'd take that deal? They wouldn't even stay on my head."