Work Text:
Now that John was back to work, he thought everything would be fine. Sure, everyone knew he had been sneaking around the hospital and taking whatever drug he could get his hands on before disappearing into rehab. And yes, his coworkers (his friends?) spoke to him like he was still in the middle of an active addiction, their voices softer and touches gentler than they ever were before. And of course, his family has all but forgotten that he existed, his "extracurricular activities," as his father so kindly put it, not fitting in with their perfect, prestigious image (because god forbid they support their only remaining son). But still, he thought it would be fine. He thought he would be able to ignore everything and fall back into the routine of the ER like he never left in the first place.
But he couldn't. He still had moments where his hands reached out for discarded needles or half-empty prescription bottles on instinct. He almost popped a few more pills about a week after he did it the first time, but his hand stopped halfway to his mouth. A chilling disgust ran through his body and he dropped the pills to the ground before rushing out of the room. He thought about telling Abby, or anyone, but the shame was quickly settling in his stomach and making him nauseous. No one could know. He couldn't risk his job, he couldn't see the sadness in the eyes of those around him. He had to put on this image of the perfect John Carter that everyone preferred.
After a particularly rough shift (multiple fatalities, a domestic abuse case, an attempted suicide inside the ER, and an agitated patient who lashed out at John while waiting for a psych consult), John stumbled through the doors of the ER, forced his legs to carry him to the train, and collapsed into a seat like a bag of bricks. He slouched against the hard seat, a deep ache settling in his back now that there was nothing to distract him from the pain. He tried to readjust himself, but it hurt too much to move and the exhaustion that was seeping into his bones didn't help.
"You getting off, doctor?" John looked up at the teenage girl who he saw on the train a couple times a week. He didn't know he name, but they got off on the same stop and he knew that she took it often and at odd hours going between her parents' apartments. Divorced, he assumed.
"Um," he cleared his throat and shifted lower in the seat. He should get up and go home, but he didn't want to. There was no point. "Not right now," he said with a smile. The girl nodded and stepped off, her own smile a bit sad as she left John on the train.
The train kept moving, the rhythmic sounds lulling John into a half-sleep. It made four more stops before he decided to get off, his back cracking and aching as he rose from the seat. He walked out into the station and blearily looked around to see where he was. Feeling empty and hopeless and tired and desperate for a fix, John stumbled out of the station and into the busy streets. To his right was a small diner that was lit up in the night, the inside looking warm and inviting. To his left, an alleyway with a hooded man standing at the entrance, a cigarette hanging from his lips and the end of a plastic bag sticking out from his pocket. If John had to guess, that would be a good place to get some drugs.
John took a step to his left with the intention to cross the street and find something to fill the overwhelming ache of desperation in his chest, but he stopped at the ring of bell. Looking over to his right, he saw a couple leaving the diner, their faces split in grins, laughter falling from their lips. He could hear soft music coming from the diner before the door closed. Casting one last glance to his left, John decided that he could do with some music right now.
"Sit wherever, hun. I'll be with you in a minute," an older women called from behind the counter when John walked in. He nodded and smiled before tucking himself in the back booth, his limbs knocking against the table in an exhausted, uncoordinated manner. It only took the woman a minute to make her way over.
"Can I get you anything to drink?"
"Some coffee, please." His voice was rough, so he cleared his throat. The woman nodded, but her face was pinched with a bit of concern.
"You got it." John laid his head on the table while he waited for his coffee. The music was gentle, the booth was cushioned, and the air was filled with warmth. He could hear a few people chatting, but their voices were soft. The woman appeared a couple minutes later with a steaming cup of coffee. "Anything to eat?"
"Oh, not right now, thank you." John gave her a smile and dropped a few creamers and sugars into his coffee before stirring it lazily. As he stirred, he rested his head on the table again. It didn't take long for him to fall asleep.
-
John woke up slowly. He opened his eyes and looked around in confusion before he remembered his trip to the random diner. Suddenly feeling more awake (and a bit embarrassed), John shot up. An unfamiliar coat that was resting across his shoulders slid down his back.
"Oh, you're awake." The woman from earlier was back at his table. "How do you feel?"
"Huh? Oh, um, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to fall asleep." He ignored his cold coffee that he never even took a single sip from and forced himself to stand up. His back ached even more than before, likely due to his impromptu nap on a diner table, but he continued to exit the booth.
"Don't worry about it, hun. You looked pretty tired." John mumbled an embarrassed 'thanks' and handed her the coat. "No need, you can keep it. It's getting cold out there and you don't have a coat."
Without meaning to, John frowned and his tears welled up with tears. He cleared his throat in an attempt to rid himself of his quick approaching breakdown. "I appreciate that, thank you very much." The woman helped him tug the coat on over his button up.
"Get home safe," she called as he left the diner, the bell ringing quietly over his head. John spared a glance over at the alleyway. The man was no longer standing at it, but he was willing to bet there were others in the darkness that would be willing to give him whatever he wanted if he was willing to pay for it. But he was warm and that desperation for something was gone. John went back to the station and got on the train.