Chapter Text
It was an oddly calm day at the ER. No sobbing parents, no intense emergencies, no deaths, nothing. Just a few broken bones and emergency stitches.For the first time in days, John exhaled. Dr. John Morgan, was a well respected senior attendant at the hospital, he saved hundreds of lives and won countless awards for his "valiant service”. But to him it was anything but. All he could remember were the people he couldn't save, the lives that slipped through his fingertips. From his first loss, the 25 year old man who he didn’t know how to treat during the Aids crisis, to the 6 year old girl who died during Katrina, to the once lively old man whose health declined suddenly during covid. He shook the memory from his head. He needed a distraction.
Looking around, he scanned for a patient who would be easy enough to fix, his eyes landing on a tall man with curly-graying hair with a blood soaked rag pressed against his hand. Perfect, John thought and headed over to his next patient.
“Good Morning, I’m Dr.Morgan i’ll be taking care of you today.”
“G’mornin”. The man replied cheerfully, despite his injured form.
After taking a quick look at the man’s bloodied cloth, John lifted it, revealing a deep gash that stretched from his wrist to his inner palm.
“How’d this happen?”
“I was cutting vegetables for lunch and the knife fought back.”
“Your sacrifice is inspiring.” John stood from his stool and walked over to his laptop, pulling up the man’s health information and studied it for a moment.
“Timothy Smith?” John asked.
“Yeah, but I go by Timm.”
Timothy or Timm Smith. John noted. Age: 48. 228 pounds. Height: 6’4. Blood type: A-. No known allergens.
“Well Timm.” John started, “You’re going to need stitches and due to the jagged shape of the cut you're going to be left with a pretty large scar, is that alright?”
“Yes sir.”
“Great.” John reached into a cabinet and pulled out anti bacterial spray, an alcohol wipe,a needle and a thin piece of string. With his newly retrieved materials he retook his seat next to Timm. After prepping his arm, John threaded the needle and prepared to stitch Timm's wound. Timm’s hand fidgeted slightly, peering up, John analyzed the way he refused to look, the way his brows furrowed in fear, the way his normally tan face had paled dramatically.
“What do you do for work?” John asked as he rose from his seat once more, heading over to the cabinet again to reach for a numbing agent.
“Um, I own a mechanic shop over on 56th street.”
“Whats the craziest thing you've seen at work?” John said as he approached Timm again and lightly wiped his gash with the numbing agent.
Timm’s face lit up, his brown eyes illuminating the clinical, white room.
“Last week a 20 something year old girl called my work phone and complained about hearing a rattling every time she started her car, right.”
John nodded, silently urging Timm to continue, inconspicuously rethreading his needle as Timm spoke.
“--So I tell her to come so that I can check it out and the next day she inches into the garage with barely any gas in her tank. Mind you, I'm already awed at the fact that the car is running on barely a drop of gas, so imagine my surprise when I lift the hood and check her oil, only to find the stick completely dry, like not even an ounce of oil was on it!” Timm explained,reliving the events in real time. “I asked her when her last check was and she said–and I’m not even joking– 5 years ago!”
John chuckled lightly at his exasperated tone.
“Well anyway, I fixed her car up for her and made her promise to come back in 6 months for a real inspection.”
“How much did you charge her?”
“Oh, I didn't charge her.”
“Really?” John questioned, genuinely surprised.
“Yeah, I mean she’s just a kid, probably suffering from student loans, she doesn't need one more thing to worry about.” Timm explained matter-of-factly.
“Mm, well, you're all done here Mr. Smith.”
“Wait, really?” Timm stated, confused, peering down at his wound and realizing that John had finished patching him up.
“Yep, thanks for sitting so well, most people tend to be more squirmish when they get stitches.”
“Uh-yeah of course”. Timm replied, taken aback as to how quick the procedure was.
“How much do I owe you?”
“Your insurance should cover it.” John explained. “Come back in about a month to get these removed and you should be as good as new, save for a pretty gnarly scar.”
“Alright then.” Timm rose from his seat. “Thank you, Dr. Morgan.” He said warmly.
“My pleasure.”
With that, Timm exited the ER and for the rest of the day John felt relaxed and enjoyed the remainder of his shift for the first time in months.
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When the day shift came to a close he waved goodbye to his coworkers and admired the sunset, a perfect concoction of reds, oranges, and yellows that painted the sky. As he approached his 30 year old , small, green truck he began to think. The trip to his apartment was relatively quick, about 15 minutes out. But John felt a strange tugging in his chest that urged him to take the longer, more scenic route that took him over a lake that was sure to be breathtaking at this time of day.
As he started his car up, the engine rattled the small space, letting out a slight creaking noise as it did so. Worry creased the area between his bushy brows, but that strange tug around his heart emerged and alleviated any sense of doubt in his mind. He wordlessly decided to take the scenic route and began his journey. However, on this alternative ride home, the engine in John's car bubbled and popped and deflated onto the side of the road on 56th street, about 10 minutes away from his apartment. Looking around in dismay, his eyes landed on a bright sign labeled “Timm’s Garage” that sat above a homey looking car mechanic shop.
That unmistakable tug reappeared within John’s chest and pulled him towards the door and before he knew it, his feet were right on top of the door mat.