Work Text:
John was seven hours into his twelve hour shift when his relatively calm day quickly descended into misery and madness.
He was drifting through the halls after finishing some sutures on an older woman who sliced her finger while making dinner when he heard a voice that settled deep in the back of his mind. He knew that voice, but couldn't quite place a name or face to it. Curiosity built in his body as he picked up the pace a bit to try and catch the person before they vanished.
John was a few feet away from the admit desk, the voice getting louder with every step he took, when he saw him. Jerry was nodding his head lazily at a man who was talking, talking, talking. His voice, the one John recognized, grew more agitated with every second until he was bordering on yelling. But all John could focus on was his face. He knew that face.
A suffocating feeling of dread bloomed in his stomach and spread up to his throat until he felt like he couldn't breathe. A wave of nausea threatened to drown him as he took a step back in an attempt to get away from that face. That voice. But, to the surprise of no one, he backed right into Deb and knocked the tray she was holding out of her hands. Metal hit the ground with a loud clanging that caught the attention of everyone within twenty feet, including that voice.
John had half the mind to apologize to Deb and help her pick up the tray, but his body refused to move as that face looked at him. Those eyes widened in recognition and that mouth curled up into a wide smile.
"John Carter?" The voice called, excited and in disbelief.
John cleared his throat. "Max," he forced out. It was strangled and he cleared his throat again.
"Holy shit, I haven't seen you in, what, two years?" Max, seemingly having forgotten his heated conversation with Jerry, made his way over to John who was still rooted in his spot like his shoes had melded with the floor. "Not since that party, huh?" Max clapped John on the shoulder and he jolted at the touch.
"Uh, yeah," John forced out a rough laugh. "That party, yeah." Finally finding it within him to move, he brushed Max's hand off his shoulder and took a step back. "I, um, excuse me." He jabbed his finger in the direction behind him. "Patient, uh, I have a, um, a patient to check on."
Ignoring the strange looks of those around him who had the misfortune of witnessing that interaction, John speedily took off down the hallway he just emerged from.
-
"Hey, Carter." Deb found him thirty minutes later in the lounge. She was holding two charts and didn't seem upset about him knocking her stuff over earlier. "That guy you know is asking for you. He said he wants you to check on his girlfriend."
"Can't. Busy." He snatched the chart Haleh brought him just a few minutes ago. It was a probably stomach bug, nothing big.
"He says he won't leave until you look at her." Deb held the chart out to him, one eyebrow raised. "She just has a few bruises, a minor head lac that needs sutures, and a broken hand." When he doesn't take the chart, she shakes it a bit. "Come on, Carter. He won't let me do it."
Sighing, John took the chart. It felt unusually heavy in his hands, but he was probably imagining that. The dread that had shrunk to a constant, but manageable presence grew. "I'll check her out in a minute."
-
John drew out his conversation with the stomach bug patient for as long as he could without raising too many red flags. Lydia did give him a few confused looks the longer he stayed and the more slightly irrelevant questions he asked. Despite all his efforts, he only spent about ten minutes with the guy.
All too soon, John found himself outside of Marianna Thompson's room. The room was empty besides Marianna, so John allowed himself a deep breath before pushing the door open.
"Ms. Thompson, my name is John Carter. Looks like all you need is a few sutures and then you'll be good to go." He grabbed a seat and rolled it over to the bed.
"Hi," Marianna whispered, her eyes tracking John's movements. "Max told me you were coming." John tensed at the name before forcing himself to relax. He gave Marianna a tight smile before snapping on some gloves.
"Is that so?" The two of them fell into a somewhat uncomfortable silence as John started to suture her head lac. Feeling slightly suffocated by the silence, John cleared his throat. "So, what happened?"
"I fell," she said quickly. "I was being stupid."
"Accidents happen," was all John managed to get out. They back into a weird silence that John didn't try to fill. He continued to work on her sutures for another couple minutes before finishing. Once he was done, he tugged his gloves off and smiled at Marianna. She looked awfully young sitting in the bed with a hospital gown drowning her figure. Much too young, but her chart said she was 25.
"You're all set, Ms. Thompson. I'll have a nurse come in to do one last check, but you should be good to go." John stood from his seat, but didn't make it very far. Marianna had her non-broken hand grasping his lab coat.
"You know Max, right?" John swallowed before sitting back down.
"I do."
"How?" Her hand moved from his coat and clutched at his hand instead.
"Well, we met during my first year of medical school when Max was in his second year."
"And you were friends?"
John suddenly felt like his throat was closing. "Sort of." Marianna looked at him like she was expecting more, her eyes wide and glossy. "We hung out a few times. Went to a few, uh, parties together." His heart was pounding in his chest and his throat felt dry. Swollen.
"You're not friends anymore?"
"No, I wouldn't say we are friends anymore." She gripped his hand tighter and he covered their clasped hands with his other. "Is there something you need to tell me, Marianna? Did… did he do something to you?"
Marianna's face crumples under the weight of the question and sobs fall from her lips in quick succession. Her glossy eyes squeeze shut as tears drip down her face. John held her hand tighter as she gasped over her words.
"I don't know what to do anymore. He was, god, he was so nice at first." She ripped her hand away to cover her face, sobbing into her hand to muffle the sounds. John sat there tense, stressed, scared. "I don't know when he changed."
"What happened, Marianna? Did he do this to you?" Her wounds could be consistent with a nasty fall or with abuse. Knowing Max, John wouldn't put it past the man. He was a sick, cruel person.
"Yes," she gasped out, chest heaving with each shuddering breath she took. "I'm scared. I can't do it anymore."
"Don't worry," he said, his own voice distant in his ears. He felt like he was staring at himself when he was on the bad end of Max's cruelty two years ago. "I won't let him hurt you anymore, don't worry."
Marianna brought her hand down to grasp at John's coat once again. Her eyes were wide and so young. Tears continued to stream down her face as her lips wobbled in an attempt to keep her sobs in. "He does more than just hit me," she said. The dread in John's body grew in anticipation. He knew what she was going to say next, but he wanted to be wrong. Max promised.
"He rapes me," she whispered, her voice quiet and fearful.
John nodded before standing from the seat. He shook with anger, fear, and something close to betrayal. Not fulling thinking through his actions, John whipped the door open and made his way to the admit desk where he had last seen Max.
"Carter," Deb called out to him, but he walked right past her. He had one goal in mind and that was to beat the shit out of Max Hill.
"John! Have you checked over my girlfriend?" John punched Max in the face, a loud popping noise and a burst of pain following. Despite the pain and the shocked gasps from the people around, John grabbed Max's shirt and threw another punch. It landed on his nose with a sharp crack.
"You're sick," John screamed, voice rough and wild. He threw Max to the ground and straddled his lap. "You promised, you fucking rapist! You promised!" He continued to throw punches even as hands wrapped around his body to pull him away. He thrashed against the hands, their touches bringing him back to that party two years ago.
"Carter, stop!" Dr. Greene was yelling in his ear, his arms wrapped firmly around John's waist while other hands grabbed his shoulders, arms, and legs. But John couldn't stop. Not after everything Max did. His chest was heaving with deep, shuddering breaths and his fist was aching, but he continued to punch and kick and squirm in an attempt to get to Max.
"You hurt her. You raped her." He gasped as he was fully pulled away from Max, eyes burning with unshed tears as a nurse crouched next to Max. "You're a liar," he said. He blinked and tears fell down his cheeks in a seemingly never ending flow. He sagged against the hands that held him, all the fight in his body gone. He felt drained. And while being a liar was nowhere near the worst of what Max was, John couldn't help but run it in his mind over and over again.
Max grinned from his spot on the floor, his teeth red with blood. His nose was broken and his face was slowly swelling with bruises, but John focused on his stupid grin. That stupid, sick grin. "I am," he said. Smug. Confident. Proud.
-
John found himself in the lounge a few minutes later with Mark pulling some gloves on so he can look over John's hand. Doug was also in the room, but he stood back as a silent observer. John thought he heard someone say Susan volunteered to assess Max (probably because Mark and Doug were too busy dragging John away) and someone told Deb to go find Peter. Not that it mattered, John didn't need surgery.
"Looks like a fifth metacarpal fracture." Mark pulled away from John and removed his gloves. "Boxer's fracture. We'll get an X-ray to confirm, but you'll likely need to wear a cast for a few weeks."
"Are you in pain?" Doug asked. John shrugged. It did hurt, but he couldn't be bothered to relieve the pain. There was no point. Doug sighed, "I'll have a nurse get you something for the pain."
"I don't want anything." The three of them fell into a tense silence. John's tears had long since stopped, but his face felt tight as they dried. He wanted to wipe them away, but he didn't want to move. He knew Mark wanted to say something. Probably ask him what happened out there.
"Carter," he started, but the door slammed open and Peter walked in with a stressed looking Deb right behind him.
"What the hell happened?" Peter stopped in front of John and looked over his hand, his face twitching as he took in the rapidly growing bruises and slight crookedness of his pinky finger.
"There was a fight. Carter attacked a guy and I think he broke his hand. We need an X-ray to confirm," Mark said.
"What guy?" Peter seemed angry. John had disappointed him again. His eyes filled with a new wave of tears, but he didn't cry. He just sat there and let them speak for him.
"I-I don't know, Peter. Some guy in the chairs."
"He came in with a patient," Deb said, her voice quiet like she was scared to speak. "Mary, maybe, came in after falling? I'm not sure, but he knows John."
"Marianna," John said. Four heads turned toward him. "And she didn't fall."
"She didn't?" Doug moved closer and crouched in front of John. His voice was gentle and eerily similar to the tone he used with scared children.
"No," he swallowed hard. Fear started to spread throughout his body, but he could tell them this. It was the truth and it was important. They didn't have to know anything else. "She, uh, she told me that he hit her. Abused her." He took a second to breathe deeply. "And he raped her."
"Okay, we will let the police know. They'll want to speak with you." John nodded. "I also heard you saying something about this guy, your friend, being a liar. What do you mean?"
"He's not my friend. I barely know him," he snapped. Doug raised his hands in surrender.
"Okay, not your friend." The room fell into a weird silence that dragged on with each passing second John refused to open his mouth. He knew they were all waiting for him to explain the "liar" part of his accusations. He just couldn't.
"Alright, let's get you to an X-ray and we can talk later," Mark said, patting John's knee.
-
Not too long after his X-ray, Peter, of all people, strolled into the lounge (which was now empty besides John) with the imaging of his hand.
"Mark was right," he said as he dropped the image in front of John. It was almost useless without a light box, but John still grabbed it just to look at something that wasn't Peter. "You need a cast."
"I'll go find Deb." He stood from his chair.
"No need," Peter said, reaching out to grab John. "I'll do it myself."
They made their way to one of the exam rooms with an awkward distance between them. John tried to ignore the looks of the nurses and doctors that he passed, but it was hard. No doubt everyone knew the he attacked a man in chairs and was curious what made weak, wimpy John Carter snap.
"Sit," Peter said. John listened and moments later Peter got to work on wrapping a cast around his hand. He worked slowly and kept a gentle touch as he maneuvered the material around John's broken bone. They sat in silence for about ten minutes before Peter sighed deeply.
"What happened, man?" He sounded tired and John felt guilty. He was always messing up around Peter.
"Nothing, Dr. Benton."
"I'm not stupid, Carter. I heard about what you did." There was a beat of silence. "Why'd you call the guy a liar?"
John, suddenly feeling very vulnerable when trapped in a room with Peter, felt his throat constrict and tears build in his eyes. He cleared his throat, but when he spoke his voice came out strained and sad. "It's nothing."
For the first time in ten minutes Peter looked up at him, his face pinched in concern. "Carter," he said, softly. Too softly. "You can tell me, man."
Maybe it was the stress of the day or the fact John had been keeping a secret for two years or the way Peter was speaking so gently to John, but in an instant John was crying. He was gasping over stuttered breaths as tears fell freely down his face and his lips curled down into a deep frown, harsh sobs tumbling from him. He remembered Marianna crying in the same way not too long ago and the way he cried two years ago. He shook as he cried, his non-broken hand moving to wipe uselessly at the tears.
"Shhh," Peter said, standing and wrapping his arms around John. "It's alright, man." He dragged a comforting hand up and down John's back as he continued to try and calm him down verbally. John just cried and cried and cried, fear, disgust, anger, and misery coursing through his body.
"I met him when I was 22," he finally said once he calmed down enough to speak. He was still crying, but his voice was steady enough and only slightly muffled from his face being shoved into Peter's chest. Peter kept hugging him and stroking his back. "He was a med student, one year older. He was nice. Took me to a few parties and introduced me to people. A few months after we met, he brought me to a party off-campus in one of his houses. He, uh, he's rich, so he has a lot of houses around.
I don't really remember that night well. I just…I remember enough," he sniffed and shook harder. Peter squeezed him tighter. If it was to comfort John or to comfort himself, John wasn't sure. "He kep giving me drinks and I got drunk pretty fast. I guess he got me upstairs somehow, that part is blurry. But he started to-to touch me, you know. I tried to pull away, but I was too drunk and, I don't know, he just did whatever he wanted."
There was more John could say. There were details he remembered, he knew what Max did to him, but he couldn't say it out loud. He wasn't sure if he would ever be able to, but especially not to Peter.
"I woke up the next morning sick and in pain. He hurt me and, hm, yeah. I promised not to tell anyone or call the police if he promised to drop out of med school and never hurt anyone else again. I don't know why I thought he would keep his promise."
Peter took a deep breath before speaking, his voice slightly strained. "It's okay, Carter. We can work it out. He won't hurt you or that girl again."
"Okay," he said, his voice sad. It was something, he supposed, but Marianna never would've gotten hurt if John just went to the police. The guilt consumed him, and he felt the need to apologize. "I'm sorry, I should've told someone. I-I thought about it but…" he paused to take a deep, shuddering breath. "I was scared and I didn't want to mess up my chance at finishing med school." After a moment, he added "I didn't think anyone would believe me."
Peter pulled back from the hug and grabbed John's face in his hands. His face was sad and pulled into a frown. "I believe you, okay? We all believe you." And in that moment, that was all John needed.