Chapter Text
Lightning splits the sky in half, momentarily lighting up the dark, rain-slick street with its bright white tentacles. The streetlights are no match for the sheets of rain emptying from the clouds above, and visibility is nearly non-existent.
Peter drives his old Honda along at a trundle, eyes squinted, scanning the streets and sidewalks while doing his best to avoid getting trapped by the gushing waters.
It’s a once-in-a-generation storm, according to the local news. Historic rainfall. Record-setting wind speeds.
In the passenger seat next to him, Anna shifts, wincing as she adjusts the ice pack pressed to her jaw.
The atmosphere inside the car is tense. It is becoming increasingly clear that the task they’ve set out on is only a measure above helpless. They can’t see a damn thing in this weather.
“Where would he go?” Peter mutters, more to himself than to Anna.
But after a minute of silence, she does reply. Her voice is subdued. “I was thinking… He likes to go to the riverwalk when he’s upset.”
The stone in Peter’s stomach sinks. “The riverwalks are under at least a foot of water right now.”
Anna just nods.
Peter feels nauseous. He can’t get this new image out of his mind – Carter stumbling down to the riverwalk and getting swept away by the rising water, dragged underneath the surface. His drowned, bloated body floating face down in the river, not to be found until the morning light.
He turns right onto Lake Shore Drive. There’s no point in using his turn signal. No one in their right mind is on the road tonight. Except for them, of course. Searching for someone who is very much not in his right mind.
“Maybe he’s taking shelter somewhere?” Anna suggests weakly. “To get out of the rain?”
Peter scowls at the road in front of him. “I doubt the rain is of much concern to him, given that he’s hopped up on PCP.”
Anna doesn’t have much to say in response to that.
She was there, when it happened, unlike Peter. Carter, cutting off a homeless man’s clothes in Exam 1, only to scissor right through a plastic baggie full of white powder, which promptly exploded in his face. Peter glowers, thinking furiously once again about the way Carter was allowed to leave the hospital.
They hadn’t positively identified the substance as PCP yet, but Carter was supposed to be under supervision. Weaver and Greene dropped the ball. By the time they realized how altered Carter had become, he was too far gone. Scared, violent, hallucinating. Sweating bullets and talking nonsense, then running for the doors. He punched Anna square in the jaw when she tried to intercept him and knocked her to the ground. After that, he was able to flee into the freezing, perilous storm, wearing nothing but scrub pants and a scrub top.
So now, Peter has to picture it.
Carter, his student of three years, who he’d scarcely spoken to in the last few months, alone on the streets, completely separated from his sense of reality. In the middle of an apocalyptic storm and flash flooding.
He was going to get hypothermia.
He was going to get hit by a car.
He was going to drown.
He was going to hurt himself.
Goddamnit.
All he can do is trawls through the Chicago streets, just in case a miracle happens and Carter stumbles into their path.
“Maybe the police will pick him up,” Anna offers glumly. Because they’d called the police, of course. The guy on the other end of the line took a report and was sympathetic, but he emphasized that officers on patrol would be unlikely to be of any help until the rain had cleared.
Peter says nothing. They drive slowly, fifteen miles per hour at the fastest, but usually closer to 10. Peter holds his breath as they pass by Millenium Park, where one intersection is at least a foot deep in water. By some miracle, Peter’s car makes it through.
They scan the sidewalks, but it’s just getting harder and harder to see. The chances of encountering anyone in this weather, let alone Carter, seems impossible. No sooner could a person step outside than they would be swept away by the roaring wind. The rain was now pelting Peter’s dashboard at a near 90-degree angle.
Peter is all-too aware of the fact that his tires have terrible traction. He would not be surprised if this night ended with them having to abandon his poor car on the side of the road.
But then, from the depths of these dejectedthoughts, Anna is suddenly grabbing his arm, yelling at him to pull over. “A person! Look! A person!”
For a second, Peter squints in the direction she’s pointing and sees absolutely nothing. He thinks she’s gone mad. Maybe she breathed in some of the PCP, too?
But then, in the distance, Peter sees the shadow of a figure. As they get closer, it becomes clear that it’s not Carter. This person is short and stocky, wearing a highlighter-yellow rain poncho with the words POLICE emblazoned across the back.
The cop sees them and flags them down. Peter pulls up beside him and rolls the window down. He is immediately rewarded with a face full of rain.
“The hell you folks doin’ out here?” the cop bellows over the roar of the rain. “You fuckin’ nuts? The whole city is under flood alert!”
Peter is trying to think of what to say when Anna takes control of the situation, leaning across Peter from the passenger side and screaming, pretty much right in Peter’s ear, “WE’RE LOOKING FOR OUR FRIEND! WE THINK HE MIGHT BE A DANGER TO HIMSELF!”
Peter, wincing and rubbing at his ear, silently agrees with her strategy. Best not get into the PCP business unnecessarily.
“You think he’s gonna be out in the rain?” the cop shouts back, clearly sceptical.
“HE LEFT WORK – WE WORK AT A HOSPITAL – HE LEFT IN A HURRY,” Anna hollers. “HE DOESN’T HAVE GOOD SHOES OR A JACKET OR HIS KEYS OR ANY OF HIS BELONGINGS!”
The cop doesn’t say anything for a second. And then he says something truly astonishing. “Your guy! He wearing those scrub things? A tall, pale fella?”
Peter’s knuckles tighten around the wheel. He whips around to face the cop again, accidentally banging against Anna’s head. She cries out mutedly, clutching her injured jaw. Peter hardly even notices.
“Have you seen him?” Peter asks urgently, not even feeling the cold and the wind through the open window anymore.
“No!” the cop yells. “But we got a call from a good Samaritan maybe twenty minutes ago, said a guy with that description was stumbling towards the lake! Said he looked mentally ill or somethin’!”
Oh god. Oh god. If that was Carter… if he was near the lake, during a storm like this, in his state?? Fear strikes at the very core of Peter’s being. For a sliver of a second, the face of Dennis Gant flashes through his mind. Not Carter. God, not Carter. He swallows thickly, skin prickling, mind racing.
He slowly turns to look at Anna. She’s staring right back at him, stricken.
“Look!” the cop shouts. “Yous should go home! It’s not safe out here! I’m sure your friend will show up!”
But Peter shakes his head. “The guy you’re looking for is our friend! We have to find him!”
With that, Peter turns the keys to the engine, shutting the car off. He flicks on the hazard lights.
For a second, he and Anna just stare at each other, expressions grim. Then Anna gives a tiny, purposeful nod. He can read her gaze. We can’t give up now.
Peter takes a deep breath and flings open the car door. He hears Anna doing the same.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” the cop yells, but they pay him no mind. Drenched to the bone within seconds, Peter and Anna take off running.
Their shoes squelch in the muddy grass as they sprint across Lakefront Park. Peter sees, now, that they’re just south of the yacht club. Something affirming glows inside of him. It feels right. Carter would have grown up going to the Chicago Yacht Club, right? Maybe, maybe… maybe they’re on the correct track.
It’s so dark, though, and it’s so cold. In the distance, he can hear waves crashing against the seawalls. Carter Carter Carter.
Peter stumbles to a stop as they reach the Lakefront Trail. He looks back and forth. He can’t see a damn thing.
“CARTER!!!!” he bellows into the night, desperate, only to have his shout instantly carried away by the wind.
Anna staggers to a stop beside him, hair dark from the rain, sopping wet. “JOHN!!” she screams.
Nothing but the wind and the rain. Light poles dot the trail into the middle distance, but their light is quelled to almost nothing by the deluge.
Even a good twenty feet from the lake, Peter can hear the water rumbling. The clap of waves crashing together like thunder. Spewing across the trail in massive, deadly surges. If Carter was out here, out of his mind on drugs… Jesus Christ. If the kid got near the edge, he was fish food.
“Should we split up?” Anna yells.
God, should they? Peter thinks about it. Carter was not a small guy. If they found him, and he wasn’t coming willingly, Peter isn’t entirely sure he would be able to overpower him by himself. He was nearly certain that Anna couldn’t. Plus, he only brought one dose of the Versed.
So Peter shakes his head. “We stick together!” he yells. “Let’s go south! The wind won’t be against us!”
There’s no time for argument. They take off down the trail, buoyed by the massive force of the wind at their backs.
Carter Carter Carter Carter Carter.
They pass through Queen’s Landing, the plaza deserted for what has to be the first time in Peter’s life. Trash cans are turned over and blowing around in the wind.
“CARTER!” Peter yells. “JOHN!” Anna screams.
This is insane, Peter thinks to himself, shivering from the cold, trying to shield his face from the downpour as he jogs along the squally waterfront, buffeted by wind from behind. This is completely insane. This is hopeless.
And then Anna shrieks.
The rain sings to him.
John presses his hands over his ears. “Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!” he repeats to himself. Why won’t she leave him alone?
It’s her song. That old song she used to sing to him, on the nights when he couldn’t sleep, couldn’t stop crying. She’d sing it in his ear as she rocked him back and forth, his tear-stained face buried in her bosom, her hand pressing down on the top of his head.
Sweet dreams, 'til sunbeams find you
Sweet dreams, that leave all worries behind you
But in your dreams, whatever they be
Dream a little dream of me.
He can practically see her. Can feel the tickle of her long blonde hair brushing against his cheeks.
He stumbles, heart racing as he watches the pavement beneath his feet roll beneath his feet, rising and falling. He can feel it humming with predatory energy. Like it’s alive. Like it wants him. He knows he shouldn’t be out here. His nanny told him to never go to the water at night. But John lost his tiger stuffed animal at the beach, and it was the only thing he had left of Bobby. He needs to find it.
The rain is too loud and too cold, though, and the beach where he made sandcastles has turned to pavement that ripples like pond water with every step he takes. At times, his feet disappear into the concrete like quicksand, and he can’t get them loose. He whimpers, convinced that he will be swallowed into its depths at any moment.
Say "nighty-night" and kiss me
Just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me
While I'm alone, and blue as can be
Dream a little dream of me
He flinches as he feels her lips brush up against his neck. No! The eleven-year-old boy inside of him screams. No, get off! Get off me!
What is Sarah doing here? Has she come to take him back? He can’t go back. He can’t go back with her. He won’t.
“STAY AWAY!” he yells, but he can hardly hear his own voice. The world is so loud. He needs to hide. He needs to hide from her, and from the rain. The rain. It’s getting bigger. Something is wrong. The raindrops grow, becoming the size of rocks, slamming into him. Slamming into everything. He whimpers, falling to his knees. Something icy cold sprays across his face. Water fills his mouth, his nose, his eyes. He splutters, on his hands and knees atop the sentient pavement.
Something loud fills the air around him – something grumbling and violent. Thunder? No. No, it was the sound of someone breathing.
Right?
Right?
She’s watching him. She’s close.
He needs to go.
But no. No, he needs to find Bobby’s old stuffed tiger first. He can’t believe he was dumb enough to lose it. It’s all he has left of his brother. Mom and Dad got rid of everything else.
His head hurts. His hands, too. He scrambles to his feet, determined to find the stuffed animal. He peers over the ledge, into the water below.
Except it’s not waves he sees – not really. The waves morph as they rise and fall, and in them, John sees the faces of all those he has lost.
This can’t be real this can’t be real this can’t be real –
“CARTER!!”
The wind howls his name. Oh god. Oh god. They’re coming to take him away. They know what he did. He didn’t tell anyone! She told him not to tell! He kept his promise!
She didn’t keep hers. She said she’d stay forever. And then she left without saying goodbye.
But John never told a soul what happened between them.
He stumbles backwards as a massive wave that looks like Sarah bursts out of the water and grabs at him. “Stay away!!” he screams, coughing, choking on water. His eyes burn. He can’t feel his hands or feet.
“CARTER, GET AWAY FROM THE EDGE!”
John looks around frantically, trying to find the source of the voice. But it’s coming from the clouds, it’s coming from the lake, it’s coming from the wind. It’s everywhere. It’s with her.
The sound of the rain turns into the sound of footsteps, coming at him fast. Panic seizes him. “GET AWAY GET AWAY GET AWAY!” he screams. She’s coming for him. He has to get away. He needs to get Bobby’s tiger. Where can he go? He’s trapped. He’s in the open. There’s nowhere to run. Except… except…
There is the water.
It’s terrifying, for sure. But there’s also something beautiful about it. Black as night, glittering, alive.
“JOHN!”
A woman’s voice rings through the night, clear as day.
He looks, and he sees her. Like not a day has passed since their last meeting. Blonde hair and a heart-shaped face. And she’s moving towards him.
His heart races. Fast. Too fast. It’s going to explode out of his chest for sure. He’s got to get away from her. He has no choice.
He takes another step towards the water.
Peter’s heart slams against his ribcage at mach speed. He feels dizzy. He’s going to kill Carter. Oh god. Oh god.
As his old student moves closer to the edge of the lethal water, Peter inches forward. He can see that John’s entire body is trembling. Carter’s eyes are wide and wild and terrified. Pupils massively dilated. Skin nearly white. His blue scrubs are completely soaked, clinging to every angle of his skinny frame. Hair plastered to his forehead.
The scene has an apocalyptic feeling to it – it looks like a shot from a movie. A pitch-black night, lit only by distant streetlights. Wind whipping through his hair, waves crashing. The force of the rain beating against the pavement creates a hazy mist between them.
Peter raises his hands placatingly.
“Look at me!” Peter shouts over the howling wind. “Look at me, Carter! It’s me. It’s Peter. Step back! It’s not safe!”
But Carter just stares back at him, looking like a deer in the headlights. He’s quaking, bad. He shakes his head. There is no recognition in his eyes as he looks at Peter.
Peter takes another cautious step forward, but this causes John to stumble backwards – not towards the water, this time, just farther along the path. Peter curses.
“Carter, listen to me! We’re not going to hurt you! We just want to help! You’re on drugs, man! You’re not thinking straight! This isn’t you!”
Carter shakes his head more vigorously, placing his hands over his ears, rocking back and forth. Peter can see his lips moving, and though he can’t hear him, it’s clear what he’s saying. No no no no no no no. The same word, over and over again.
He feels a presence behind him, and soon Anna is speaking. Shouting, really, to be heard, yet somehow she still manages to make her voice sound soft and soothing. “John, come here please! We can’t hear you from over there! Don’t be scared!”
But Carter just rocks harder. Peter can see, now, that he’s crying.
Jesus Christ. PCP. God knows what he’s seeing, hearing, feeling. It could be anything. Based on the terrified look on Carter’s face, it’s probably the worst thing imaginable. Peter wonders. He wonders what horrors exist in Carter’s perfect life that could possibly make him feel this scared.
He takes another hesitant step forward, and then another. Carter doesn’t seem to notice. Peter subtly reaches into his back pocket, pulling out the pre-loaded syringe of Versed. He flicks the safety cap off, then buries the bulk of the syringe in his fist so Carter can’t see it.
As Peter edges closer, he finally can hear the words Carter is repeating over and over. “No, no, no. Keep her away. I don’t want her here. What is she doing here? No, no, no. Leave me alone, leave me alone, LEAVE ME ALONE. It’s not right, it was wrong, please, please, please….”
Peter is only a few feet away now. It’s unclear if Carter notices him. He’s pacing and rocking and crying and swaying and is way, way, way too close to the edge. One powerful wave could sweep him away forever.
“Carter,” Peter speaks loudly, clearly. “It’s me. It’s Benton. And Anna. We won’t hurt you. Can you please take a couple steps back?”
But John doesn’t turn to look at him. His eyes fix on Anna, some distance behind Peter. They widen in fear. “STAY AWAY!” he yells. He stumbles backwards, and Peter’s heart almost gives out when he loses his balance and nearly falls over the edge. He recovers himself, only barely.
The Versed is burning a hole through his hand. The situation couldn’t be more dangerous.
“John-” Peter starts again, in his most gentle voice. But Carter cuts him off, sobbing loudly, shaking uncontrollably.
“I don’t know you! I don’t know you! Why did you bring her here?” His frenzied eyes start to dart around, as if looking for an escape. Peter abhors the way Carter’s gaze repeatedly lands on the water.
Peter glances behind him. Anna is there, a few yards back. He shakes his head at her, and she seems to understand. She takes a few steps back.
He doesn’t know who Carter thinks Anna is, but best keep the kid appeased so that he himself might get closer.
“See, she’s going. She can’t hurt you. Can you take a step back from the water. Please, man.”
Carter just shakes his head, water droplets flying everywhere. He looks at Peter with eyes full of terrible fright and confusion.
“She’ll be mad if I lost it,” he mumbles, stepping even closer to the water. He’s inches from the edge. Peter takes another step closer while Carter is looking away. “The tide… the tide took it. I’ve got to get it back.”
Peter is so close. Carter is so focused on the water. He takes another step. And then Carter looks up, just as Peter is mid-step. Alarm spreads across his face, eyes widening as his mouth opens up to let out a warning cry.
Everything seems to happen in slow motion. Carter turns back towards the lake, just as a massive wave hits the seawall and breaks over the path. A moving wall of water, at least six feet tall. Deafening thunder rolls above their heads. John is thrown off balance by the force of the wave as it hits him. He teeters, then begins to fall forward. Peter dives forward.
He slams into his former student as hard as he can, slippery bodies hitting the pavement. Carter screams and thrashes. A punch catches Peter’s throat. John’s fingernails claw against Peter’s arms, digging in, drawing blood. It’s not enough to make Peter let go. He holds Carter down, though it takes every bit of his strength to stay atop the boy, who bucks and tries to bite and screams incoherently.
“ANNA!” Peter roars, but she’s already at his side. “THE VERSED, GRAB THE VERSED!” Peter jerks his head to where the syringe has fallen to the ground and rolled away.
She moves, faster than the lightning that bursts across the sky, illuminating the dramatic, rainswept scene. She’s pulling the waistband of his scrubs down, and Carter loses it. He screams like an animal caught in a trap. He kicks and kicks and kicks. He wails, flailing around with inhuman strength. Peter can hardly hold on. It’s insane. It’s completely insane.
How is this the same boy who once threw Peter a preposterous birthday party just because he thought he overheard Peter discussing his birthday the phone?
“I can’t get a good angle!” Anna shouts, just before taking a kick to the chest that sends her sprawling backwards. She lies there on the pavement, clutching her sternum and gasping for air.
“DAMNIT, CARTER! WE’RE TRYING TO HELP YOU!”
“I DON’T WANT IT I DON’T WANT IT KEEP HER AWAY FROM ME-”
And then Anna rushes forward, pulling his pants down again and jabbing the needle into the meat of his thigh, depressing the plunger while practically sitting on Carter’s leg to hold it down.
Carter screams, pure, concentrated terror. It makes Peter want to throw up.
He continues to writhe on the ground, sobbing, but Peter doesn’t give an inch. Instead, he moves a hand under John’s head, trying to protect it from slamming against the concrete.
“Shhhh, man. It’s alright. You’re alright.”
Gradually, Carter’s movements grow weaker, his sobs more muted and mournful.
“That’s it. There you are. Good boy, Carter,” Peter murmurs, his own body slackening with relief as he cradles the boy’s head to his chest.
“We’ve got to get him back to County,” Anna says tightly. Peter sees, now, that she’s crying too.
Peter nods. Carter’s been out in the freezing rain for two hours. They’ve been out in it for only fifteen minutes, but Peter alreadyfeels chilled to the bone.
Peter looks down at John, still struggling weakly under Peter’s weight. “Carter, listen to me,” he says. “We’re going to take you to the hospital. You’re safe. There are doctors there who will take care of you. Friends.”
Tears leak from Carter’s eyes. His lips move soundlessly.
“Okay,” Peter murmurs to himself, thinking. “Okay.” He looks to Anna. “I’m going to have to carry him back to the car. Can you drive while I stay with him in the backseat? I think he thinks you’re somebody else, or something. Someone he’s afraid of.”
Anna doesn’t say anything for a minute but then nods reluctantly. “I’ve never driven in a storm like this,” she says quietly, nervously.
Peter can’t blame her for being uneasy. He is extremely concerned that they’ll get caught in a flash flood on their way back. Or that the streets leading to County will already be completely flooded.
“It’s going to be fine,” Peter says gruffly, avoiding her eyes.
He turns back to Carter, still jerking occasionally beneath Peter’s grip. “Alright, man. We’re going to go someplace warm and dry, how does that sound?”
Carter just sobs and shakes. Peter’s heart hurts.
He links his arm under Carter’s shoulders, dragging him upwards. He’s practical dead weight. Peter holds him to his chest with one hand while getting his other arm under his knees. Anna watches anxiously. “Are you sure you’ve got him?” she asks.
“I’ve got him,” Peter says through gritted teeth. And then he lifts. His back screams in protest, but he knows there’s no other option. As Carter’s head starts to loll, he nudges it back with his shoulder, securing it under his chin. His skin is ice cold.
“Get off me, get off me, please, don’t touch me…” Carter whimpers, his words now slurred. A feeble hand tries to push himself away from Peter, but it has no effect.
“It’s alright, man, you’re alright,” Peter murmurs into Carter’s hair.
And then they’re moving. Anna takes the lead, with Peter trailing behind her carrying Carter. He holds on tight to the boy, hoping that maybe he can transfer some of his body heat to him.
They stumble through the night, through the sodden grass, blinking against the heavy rain that sprays directly into their faces.
They follow the city lights back to Lake Shore Drive, then head north up the sidewalk, looking for where they left the car. There’s at least a few inches of water in the road. Peter’s never seen anything like it.
“There!” Anna calls out from up ahead, pointing into the distance. Peter sees it – his car, with the hazard lights still blinking. Before Peter can yell to Anna to run ahead and get the car started, she’s already doing it, taking off into the night.
“Almost there, man,” Peter mutters to Carter.
When they get to the car, Anna has the doors open and the heat on full blast. Peter steps into the road and water fills his shoes. He gently lays John down on the backseat, then runs around to the other side. He drags Carter over to him, holding him against his chest tightly so that he can’t make a break for it.
Anna gets in the driver’s side and steers the car into the road. It’s hard to hear anything over the roar of the engine and the heater, combined with the pounding of rain against the windshield and the roof.
Their clothes drench the seats beneath them. Peter shivers, shrugging off his soaked jacket. Carter is trembling uncontrollably as he cries silently, lips forming occasional incoherent murmurs. Names and places Peter does not recognize. Beaches and storms and a lost stuffed animal. Someone named Sarah. His teeth chatter.
Anna glances back, mascara smeared down her cheeks. She looks incredibly tense. “He’s freezing,” she snaps.
Peter glowers. “I know that.”
“Peter, I don’t know how long it’s going to take us to get to County with the roads the way they are. You’ve got to get those clothes off of him.”
Peter doesn’t know why he didn’t think of that first. It’s so obvious, he’s embarrassed. He doesn’t answer her, but gets to work regardless.
“Carter, we need to get these wet clothes off. Do you understand?”
John just blinks at him with dazed, glassy eyes, showing no signs of comprehension. The Versed is, for now, doing its job.
But then his lips move. “I don’t want her to touch me,” he whimpers.
Peter can see Anna’s grip tighten around the steering wheel.
“John, can you lift your arms for me? I need to get your scrub top off.”
Peter reaches for the hem of the shirt, only to be stunned by a clumsy blow to his temple. “Carter, what the hell-”
John is suddenly struggling again, trying to yank himself away from Peter’s hold. “Get away from me, stay away, I said no, I hate you, why did you leave me, where’s Bobby, where’s my mom?!”
“Jesus Christ!” Peter practically shouts, trying to keep John restrained. Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ. Peter doesn’t know what to do. He’s bad enough at dealing with the emotions of lucid people. Now his old intern is coming apart at the seams, terrified and hallucinating, high on PCP, crying for his mom. Childlike, tripping, drugged. A mess.
“What’s going on?” comes Anna’s alarmed voice from up front.
“I got this, just focus on the road!” Peter snaps as the tires skid briefly on an incline. Then, in a much gentler voice, as he basically pulls Carter into a bear hug to keep him contained, “John, listen to me. Listen, okay?” Carter squirms and sobs. “Hey. Hey. Shh. Relax, man. Just breathe.” Carter settles, just a little bit. He’s practically in Peter’s lap, at this point. It’s a ridiculous predicament that Peter does not have time to dwell on. “Listen. Listen. Are you cold?”
Carter whimpers, then nods. Peter leans in. “Your clothes are cold and wet. If we can get them off, it’ll help you warm up.”
Tears stream down his cheeks, bottom lip quivering. He looks impossibly young. Younger than he did that first day, years ago, in a tailored lab coat. It’s been so long since Peter has been this close to Carter, since he’d really taken a good look at him. He’s so damn thin.
The boy whines a little. “She said not to tell anyone.”
Peter bites back a sigh. Nothing Carter says makes any sense. “That’s alright. You don’t have to tell me anything. Just… let me get this shirt off of you.”
Carter doesn’t answer. His body is wracked by a shudder. Hesitantly, Peter reaches for Carter’s shirt once more. “Can you lift your arms up, man?”
When Carter once again fails to respond, Peter sighs. “Okay. Okay. Just don’t freak out on me, alright?”
He bunches up the soaking wet cotton and begins to work it up Carter’s torso. It’s an awkward procedure that is only made worse by their odd position, Carter practically on top of him. He’s nervous about letting his grip on the boy go, should he lunge for the door or something. But Carter just shivers and shakes.
When he gets up to John’s armpits, he carefully lifts one arm up, maneuvering it out of the clingy wet sleeve. Carter moans. “It’s okay, man. You’re okay. You’re doing great.” He repeats with the next arm, then pulls the shirt over Carter’s head and throws it to the floor of the car.
Halfway there.
Cautiously, Peter shifts Carter out of his lap, onto the seat next to him, keeping an arm around his waist the whole time. His head hangs. He is barely tethered to consciousness.
Peter swallows, then takes a deep breath. Carter is probably hypothermic. He has to act.
He reaches for the waistband of Carter’s drenched scrub pants and begins to shimmy them down Carter’s thighs. It’s not easy work, given that they stick to the skin, and that Carter is sitting on top of them. He’d tell the kid to lift his butt, but he doubts Carter is coherent enough to understand the instruction. Also, he probably wouldn’t want to. Even now, the fight seeming to have drained out of him, he twitches and makes small noises of fright and discomfort.
So Peter pulls and yanks on the wet garments until they’re pooled at Carter’s ankles. Peter tugs off his sodden shoes, then removes the pants entirely. He catches Anna’s eye in the rearview mirror. She breaks the eye contact, only to let her gaze settle on Carter. Naked and shivering and out of his mind.
“Eyes on the road, do you want us to die?” Peter snaps.
“Sorry,” she mutters.
Peter glances around the backseat, looking for anything he can use to help dry Carter off. All he sees is a bag of spare clothes he keeps for Reese. It’ll have to do.
He reaches in and pulls out a tiny little orange pullover.
“Hang in there, okay?” he mutters. “We’re almost there. I’m gonna try to dry you off.”
He takes on Carter’s hair first, cradling his head with one hand and tousling his soaking hair with the other. He talks to Carter quietly as he works. The situation is so strange and terrible, and Peter feels completely helpless. He doesn’t know what to say, except to just tell the kid that he’s okay and that he’s safe over and over again. It’s impossible to tell if his words have any effect.
Pretty soon the pullover is soaked through, so he reaches back into the bag to grab a couple of Reese’s t-shirts. He pats Carter down the best he can – arms, his chest, his legs. Carter’s skin has taken on a slightly bluish hue.
“Let me go,” Carter slurs. “You’ll make her angry. We have to go back to the lake.”
“Carter, it’s just you and me. And Anna. You know her. You guys are friends.”
Glancing out the window, Peter can see that they’re a couple blocks from County.
Carter shakes his head. “My hands are cold,” he whispers. “They’re not my hands.”
Peter says nothing.
Then Carter sits up, rather quickly, suddenly more alert. “Let me out. Let me out now.” He lunges at the door handle and starts yanking on it.
“Damnit, Carter!” Peter exclaims. The last thing they need is him getting the door open and tumbling into the street. He wrestles with the boy, trying to get a good grip on both of his arms to pull them behind his back.
“DON’T MAKE ME!” Carter screams, thrashing, right before he throws an elbow back so suddenly that Peter has no opportunity to dodge. It hits him right in the eye, the pain sharp and explosive. His vision briefly goes white. Peter pulls back, clutching his face, stunned.
Carter is yelling, Anna is yelling. The car takes a sharp turn, and both he and Carter get tossed to the other side of the backseat. And then it screeches to a halt. They’re in a semi-flooded ambulance bay. Before Peter can blink, Anna is out of the car, dashing inside to get help.
On the floor of the car, John is cowering, knees pulled close to his chest, shivering and looking around for some kind of escape.
Peter speaks low and carefully, not moving a muscle. “It’s okay, John. We’re at the hospital. We’re going to help you.”
“I don’t know you,” the boy whispers, and Peter’s heart pangs painfully. “I don’t know where I am. Why did she leave? Why did everyone leave?”
“Carter-”
Peter is cut off as the door Carter is pressed up against flies open. Hands descend, grabbing onto him, shouting orders. Carter kicks and screams as he’s pulled out of the car and onto a gurney already soaked from the rain.
“Be careful with him!” Peter shouts as he scrambles up and throws his own door open, nearly slipping on the pavement. It’s Mark and Kerry and Chuny and Malik, all clustered around the gurney, trying to hold Carter down long enough secure him. He’s punching out and kicking and sobbing and thrashing and yelling. “Jesus, don’t hurt him!” Peter yells, lurching towards them as Chuny rather aggressively pulls Carter’s flailing arm back.
But then the gurney takes off, and Peter rather haplessly hurries after them. They need warming blankets. They need fluids. Anti-psychotics. His shoes squelch as he hurries across the floor, following the team inside.