Merry Christmas, Doctor Carter

Honestly Okay

Four hours came and went. They were still on the road, despite the persistent yawning and restless shifting. In the middle of John's rant about how Lucy drove him insane, the exhaustion truly hit him.

Wondering why he stopped mid-sentence, Dennis glanced over at him. He saw how glossy his eyes appeared. "Should I take over?" he offered.

"Next rest stop," he replied. John squinted, searching for a road sign. "Not that I've seen one in a while. Where even are we?"

Dennis clocked a large, green freeway exit placard and inwardly groaned. "Uh, going off that sign that says, 'Detroit,' I'm gonna say we're not in Chicago."

"What?" John shrieked.

"We're in Michigan."

"Oh, God!" The sound of Dennis laughing made him lose it. "It's not funny Dennis!"

"John, it's okay," he soothed in a chortle, unable to keep from chuckling. "It's not like we have somewhere to be today. Why don't we just go into the city, find a hotel and crash?"

"Oh, like we'll find one now," John snapped.

"Well, we can try, can't we?"

"I guess we'll have to..." The tone in his voice made it sound as if the thought hadn't occurred to him. In truth, it hadn't. He wanted to get away for a few minutes, not a few days.

John pulled to the side of the road and stopped the car. He then pulled off his seatbelt and opened the door.

"What are you doing?"

"Changing out. Remember?" He stepped out into the street, and upon doing so, he felt dizzy. The sensation came on gradually, and there was buzzing at the top of his head, and the edges of his vision whited out. John steadied himself against the hood of the car.

"Shit," Dennis murmured in hushed panic. Immediately, he rushed out of the passenger side and to his aid. "John? John, are you okay?" Once Dennis laid a hand on the back of his neck, his palm was slick with sweat. Definitely not okay, he thought. "I'll help you in, alright?"

John hooked his arm around Dennis, using himself to keep from falling. With a groan that gave away just how horrible he felt, he flopped down into the seat. He stared ahead, zoning out, feeling his heart pounding against his chest. John struggled to get his breathing under control. The sound of the car door shutting made him jump and pull away from his disassociated state.

"Sorry," Worry creased his forehead as he watched him slowly slip back out of it. "You okay?"

"No," he whimpered in discomfort, then let out a small chuckle, though it pained him to do that much. "but it'll pass in a few minutes."

"Should I be concerned?"

"About what?"

"About you," he said, almost incredulous that he had to ask. "Are you dying or something?"

"You don't have to worry about that," John parried. It was a subject he would rather not delve into if he didn't have to. "Let's just go into the city, like you said."

A sceptical scoff left Dennis. While he started the car and drove on, he shook his head in dismay. "You're not gonna tell me..." The blank expression on his face was enough of an answer. "John, I care about you. I realise I left you behind, but that didn't mean I stopped caring."

Seconds passed. John didn't utter a word to Dennis. He was thinking of what he could say; how he could say it. An explanation like this required going back into his past — way, way back — and, again, it was something he didn't want to talk about.