Found unconscious outside a hospital, a young doctor helps John Wick heal in more ways than one. T/W - swearing, drinking, some violence, sexual content, angst, confrontation. **18+ readers only**
Shortly after Cassie returned to the room, the surgery team brought him back to the ER. He was under anesthesia and drowsy, but he actually looked more alert than when he went upstairs. The CT technicians came and wheeled him out for his scan and by the time he returned to the ER, he seemed almost awake.
When Cassie checked him, his eyes were open, but he didn't seem to be processing much.
"Hi," she said, speaking directly in front of him. "I'm Dr. O'Hara. You're in Braxton Memorial Hospital. You've had some kind of accident. But you seem to be doing just fine."
His milk chocolate eyes blinked at her blankly while Cassie stroked his hair again. "Can you tell me your name?"
"John," he slurred, closing his eyes again.
"Great, thanks," Cassie answered. "Stay with me now...," she urged and his eyes opened again. "Were you attacked? Do we need to call police?"
"Get me out of here," he murmured, his voice low and husky, looking her straight in the eyes. "No hospitals. No police."
"You've just had surgery. You've been hurt very badly. Do you know who did this to you?"
He raised his right hand and placed it on her arm. "No hospital...please."
"Why," Cassie asked him. "Why can't you be in the hospital?"
"Please....," he murmured. "Help me get out of here."
John attempted to get up again and managed to swing his legs over the edge of the bed. "Clothes?" he asked Cassie.
"They're in the closet, but they're soaked through and bloody....," she responded, standing in front of him. "Where are you going to go? What are you running from?"
He focused on her again with his brown eyes and silently attempted to stand. While holding onto the bed, he was able to work his way around to the closet. It took him several attempts to stand, but once he was able to balance, he crossed over and opened the closet door.
Cassie watched him with her arms crossed in front of her. "I really can't help you unless you tell me what is going on."
He turned to her with half lidded eyes. "I don't need your help."
"You sure as hell did about 3 hours ago. You would have frozen or bled to death out there with your dog by your side."
He softened and sat back down on the edge of the bed. "I can't explain this to you. I would if I could, but I can't. You're just going to have to go on blind faith that I'm telling you the truth," he said looking directly at her in dead earnestness. "I have to get out of here now."
"And where are you going?"
"Manhattan."
"And how are you getting there? Hitchhiking? It's almost 90 miles from here."
