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He calls for them.
When he first awakens, weighed down by pain and anesthesia, he calls for them, and Peter doesn't know what to do.
“Mom.”
“Shh, Carter. It's alright, man.”
“D-dad.”
His eyes are barely open, half rolled back, and he tosses his head slowly from left to right like he's searching for something Peter knows he'll never find.
They should be here. This isn't fair.
“Dad?”
This time Carter's voice is even more choked, and he sounds so young and lost that Peter can't bear it anymore. His hand jerks forwards, fingers itching to fix, and settles against a forehead still warm with postoperative fever.
“I’m here, Carter. I'm right here.”
The implications of his action, his words, sink in only a moment after he speaks, but he can't find it in himself to care when Carter relaxes immediately upon hearing them. He inhales deeply and lets out a sigh of great relief.
“Y’re here… I was…. I w’s frightened.”
Peter doesn't know whether he still thinks he's talking to his father or not. Regardless, he brushes back Carter's hair and hums in understanding.
“I know. You don’t have to be scared anymore.”
Carter nods sluggishly as though some awesome prophecy has been spoken, and allows his eyes to fall closed. Peter glances over at the monitor. His heart rate is finally starting to settle again.
If Reese were ever hurt, Peter thinks, he would move heaven and earth to be at his side. The idea of any other parent not feeling the same simply… defies all logic.
And it's not like Carter's parents can deny the knowledge of his condition. As his next of kin, it was necessary for them to be notified, and Peter had undertaken that task himself. It had taken him nearly ten minutes of being bounced between household staff and concierges to even get connected to Eleanor Carter, and by that point the picture had already been painted for him- the two of them were away in Tokyo, and it was unlikely they'd be leaving any time soon.
Still, he'd tried.
“Mrs Carter? My name’s Peter Benton- I’m a surgeon at County General Hospital in Chicago, I work with your son. I'm afraid there's been a serious incident.”
But after he'd told her? After he'd made certain to inform her of the severity of her son's injuries, of the urgency with which she ought to come home to him?
The only sign of any emotion at all was the brief pause before she spoke.
“I’m… I’m sorry, Dr Benton, we- we can't.”
He'd stood up straighter. Removed his hand from the back of his neck.
“Can’t?”
“We’re going to be- we’re stuck in Tokyo for the foreseeable future. I trust you'll look after him?”
“Mrs Carter, I urge you to catch the next flight, whenever it is, even if it's not tonight- cancel your plans, he needs you to-”
“We cannot, Dr Benton. Take- take care of John.”
Before he could even offer another scathing word, the line went dead. From that point on no calls were answered from that phone.
Peter knows, because he tried so very hard to get them to change their mind.
For Carter's sake. For the sake of the boy he's seeing in this moment, confused and scared and vulnerable and desperate for his mother's touch, infrequently felt as it is.
“Mom?”
He's stirring again, the etomidate doing its job as an amnesiac far too well. Peter chews on his lip and swipes his free hand against his own suddenly watery eyes.
“Hey, man, you're- you're okay. You're just waking up.”
“Dad? Where's m’Dad?”
Peter clears his throat, feels the lump within it harden into something immovable and resentful.
Where is his dad? Tokyo? How? What glittering treasure in that city could possibly be worth the heartbreaking confusion in his son’s eyes at this moment?
Shaking his head, eyes burning, Peter brushes a hand across Carter's hair like he's done so many times with Reese.
“I'm so sorry, Carter. I'm so sorry, man, I don't know. I don't know.”
But if his student even hears the words, he doesn't comprehend them. His shoulders relax again, and he melts into Peter’s touch.
“Dad.”
No longer a question.