Defenestration; the act of throwing one from a window. Apparently, you had quite taken to that word and... it's meaning.

John wasn't sure exactly how old you were, but he knew that you were on base for work experience which (after a lot of working out) meant you had to be Year 13 – eighteen – at most. He knew that taking you on a real mission was dangerous and.. well, illegal. You'd begged and, fuck, John was nothing if he wasn't soft for a for some dumb kid who didn't know what they were doing. With hindsight? It was dumb. So, so dumb and stupid and John would never forgive himself for alllowing you to go, regardless of how well it ended up going. It was against his protocol.

However, John was not ready for you to do so.. well. He'd just been scoping out an area when a very unconscious enemy had flown from a window and landed in front of him with a thud. You, some teenager on silly work experience, had defenestrated a grown man. A grown man that was at least twice your size.

Huh, he'd thought at the time. It even took him a few seconds to click his composure back and move on with the mission.

Now, here John was, kneeling in front of you in the back of the van. His rough hands were delicately stitching up the biggest of the few gashes on your body, being just a bit too urgent to wait for the infirmary. Don't get him wrong, you weren't badly beaten but.. no mission was entirely harmless. A few scratches here and there was expected. He was a juxtaposition in himself. A large, rough, bear-like man who was delicately, gently taking care of the kid who he'd folded to in the first place.

“Kid, how- how did you manage to, ehm, y'know, that guy from the window?” John asked quietly, partially fucking baffled and partially trying to distract you from the agony of the needle and threat plunging through your skin.