Rating: T

Spoilers: Big ones for Misbegotten. If you haven't seen that, this won't make much sense.

Warnings: Mentions of implied rape. Nothing more explicit than what was portrayed on the show. Minor language.

Summary: After the events of Misbegotten, John isn't coping well. Bruce fears he is heading for a breakdown, but John refuses his help. Can Bruce help him in time? Angst. Strong friendship.

Feedback: Yes, please! Constructive comments welcome, flames will be ignored (or laughed at).

Author's Note: This episode begged for a story. So much happened to John, and I felt the episode didn't provide enough closure. This story is mainly emotional angst, with a touch of h/c. Enjoy!

Sight Within Part 1

by Megan

Bruce shot his friend a worried look as he drove Johnny home from the Sheriff's station. He had spent the past four hours with his friend while he gave a statement to Walt about the days events, and discussed what would happen to the three women who had kidnapped him. It was now well past midnight, and Johnny hadn't said two words since getting into the car.

"You wanna talk?" he quietly asked, sparing another glance in his friend's direction.

"Not really," came the equally quiet response.

Gripping the steering wheel tighter, Bruce tried to focus on driving, but found his mind wandering. He couldn't imagine what it would have been like to foresee a gruesome murder, know you're going to be there when it happens, most likely become a victim, and not be able to do anything about it because you're taped to a chair.

He was also positive Johnny was hiding something from Walt. His lack of eye contact, fidgeting, and less than clear answers raised his suspicions. Judging from Walt's frustrated sighs and growing impatience, he too suspected Johnny wasn't disclosing all the events either.

Parking in front of Johnny's house, he shut off the engine and glanced at Johnny who had made no move to exit the vehicle.

"Hello, earth to Johnny," he teased.

"Huh?"

"Were you just having another vision or something?" he worriedly asked. The last thing he needed was another vision.

"Or something." He made no move to elaborate.

Letting it go for now, Bruce got out and followed him up the steps to the front door. He couldn't miss the fact Johnny was limping heavily, and seemed to hold his breath with each step.

"You know, you don't have to follow me around. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself," Johnny said as he shrugged out of his jacket and slowly made his way into the kitchen, where he took a bottle of painkillers out of the cupboard.

'I can see that,' Bruce thought to himself. "Well, seeing as it's so late and all, I was thinking I might just stay here. I mean, it's not like you're short on space, right?" His joke fell flat.

Swallowing the painkillers, Johnny limped out of the kitchen, a mumbled, "Whatever," his only response.

If Bruce thought he was worried before, he was extra worried now. It wasn't like his friend to just give up like that. Waking up after a six year coma was proof enough of that. Surprised to see it was in fact almost three in the morning, he yawned and went to one of the guest rooms.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Something woke him up. Suppressing a shiver, he rolled over and tried to find a more comfortable position. Sleep's black tendrils were just starting to envelope him when he heard it again. Someone was talking. 'Maybe Johnny's watching TV,' he thought to himself. That answer satisfied his unease until his foggy mind reminded him the TV was downstairs. The sound was definitely coming from down the hall.

He sat up and listened intently. There it was again.

Throwing back the blanket, he followed the noise as it lead him down the hall until he was at the threshold of Johnny's room. He put his ear to the door and even though the voice was muffled by the door, it was definitely Johnny. Knocking did neither stop the talking nor elicit a response. Opening the door, he was greeted by the sight of Johnny restlessly tossing from side to side and muttering the same syllable over again. 'No'.

"Johnny? You all right, man?" He wasn't expecting a response, but tried anyway.

Johnny's brow was creased, and he was covered in a thin sheen of perspiration. "No. Please don't, I said no," he murmured.

"John? You're having a nightmare, wake up." Hesitantly, he reached out and touched John's shoulder. He was never sure how his touch would be received. There was no change. He applied more pressure and shook with more force. With John starting to thrash, he tried once again. "John, wake up!"

Johnny bolted up in bed, his head almost colliding with Bruce's, a strangled 'No' ripped from his throat. Breathing hard, his disoriented eyes met with Bruce's and he slowly calmed down. "Bruce? What's going on?"

"You were having a nightmare, John. Do you remember what it was about?"

His eyes looked inward as he thought about it, and his breathing slowed. A brief look of remembrance flitted across his face before being replaced by an emotionless mask. Bruce knew the moment that look set in John wasn't going to tell him anything.

Sunlight was just starting to stream in from behind the curtains, giving the room a comfortable warm feeling despite the lingering rush of adrenaline Bruce was still feeling. John almost always opened up to him. What was different this time?

"I think I'm gonna go shower. Help yourself to coffee or whatever in the kitchen."

"But, John! You've only been asleep three hours! You need..."

"A shower. I smell." He threw back the covers, and couldn't help the groan that escaped as he stiffly stood up.

"Are you all right? You don't look very good."

"Drop it," he tersely replied. "Either go get a cup of coffee or get out." With that, he stiffly limped into the bathroom and shut the door.

Bruce was shocked. John had never spoken to him like that, even in the heat of an argument or after an emotionally charged vision. Maybe he'd speak with Walt later and see if he knew what was bothering his friend.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The moment the bathroom door shut, John felt the anger drain from him, and remorse set in. How could he have spoken to Bruce like that? He was only trying to help. Yesterday's fiasco had taken more out of him than he was willing to admit. He'd seen, or as he considered it, done, horrible things in his visions. The first time 'he' killed, he'd almost run into the bushes to throw up his lunch. It never got easier, but he learned to control his reactions to it. How many murders had he seen?

With effort, he pulled his black sweater over his head and took in his appearance in the mirror. The tumble down the stairs had hurt more than he was willing to admit. Purple bruises marred his shoulders and arms, and his wrists were also bruised from his struggling against the tape securing him to the chair.

His legs hadn't fared much better. His knees and the outside of his hip were bruised as they had taken the brunt of the impact. He had stiffened up over night and the adrenaline had worn off hours ago. It was a minor miracle he could still walk.

Turning the water on as hot as he could stand it, he scrubbed vigorously with the soap, trying to wash off the lingering odour of Penny's perfume. Her touch lingered at the front of his mind; her voice whispered to him. He could feel her rubbing against him, and then the knife as it got closer and closer to...

"No!" With a shout, he dropped the soap and snapped his eyes open, not even sure when exactly he had shut them. No wonder he couldn't sleep. He was practically reliving the event awake.

Snagging the nearest towel, he scrubbed until his skin was red and raw, making sure to get every trace of Penny off.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Bruce heard the water shut off while he worked at throwing together a simple breakfast. It was obvious Johnny hadn't been for groceries in a while, so he settled on toast and peanut butter. The shrill, sudden ring of the phone interrupted his preparations. He knew John was probably still in the bathroom, so he grabbed the handheld off the counter. "Hello?"

"Bruce? What are you doing there so early?" It was the Sheriff.

He lowered his voice. "I wanted to keep an eye on John. Make sure he was all right after yesterday. Why are you calling so early?"

"Roscoe was reviewing one of the tapes we recovered from the kidnapper's cameras and found something I need to ask John about. Is he around?"

"Sure," Bruce replied quietly. "Hold on." He knew John had been hiding something, but he didn't feel any better now that his suspicions had been confirmed. "John!" he yelled. No response. Walking out of the kitchen, he called his friend's name again only to walk right into him as he rounded the corner, effectively yelling in his ear.

"I'm psychic, not deaf," he grumbled.

Bruce held the phone out to him. "It's Walt."

"I know." He almost sounded bored. As he limped into the kitchen, Bruce trailed behind catching only one side of the conversation. "He found what? Oh. I don't think it's necessary... But I don't even... Fine."

"What was that about?"

"Oh, nothing really. Walt has a few more questions. You know, just some follow up stuff," Johnny lied, badly.

"He needs to do it now?" Bruce asked incredulously. "The early birds and worms aren't even up yet!"

"You don't need to come then. It's no big deal." He already had his coat on.

"Actually, I do need to come. How do you think you're going to get there? Your Jeep is still at the police station."

"Taxi."

Bruce gave a short laugh. "Like you would ever set foot in a cab."

Johnny paused as he realized the truth in that statement. "Right. Let's go then."

Bruce followed Johnny out, making sure the door was securely locked before heading down the steps to the car. He pretended not to notice Johnny's heavy limp, his mood swings, or the fact he hadn't bothered with any breakfast. Any comment about either of those things would surely cause his anger to flare again.

"So, I heard Sarah invited you for dinner on Saturday," Bruce stated, trying to engage John in small talk.

"Yep."

"Well, do you think you'll go?" Bruce asked when it was clear John wasn't going to elaborate.

"Nope." His gaze remained fixed on some point past the passenger window.

"Any particular reason why?"

"What are you, my damn keeper? Just leave it alone!" Johnny's body language signaled the conversation was over.

Bruce was taken aback. "Who pissed in your corn flakes, man?" That was twice his friend had lost his temper for no apparent reason. It wasn't anything new to him, he was frequently on the receiving end of his patient's frustrations. The trick was to remember it wasn't personal, and to encourage open communication. He was going to find out what was going on with John before the situation spun out of control.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o