More back story for John! And no, I don't feel bad at all for shamelessly using all of the other characters from the show as well. I REGRET NOTHING! Enjoy!
000000000000000000000
He exited the office after a twenty minute lecture from the truancy officer regarding his abrupt exit. He kept his gaze straight ahead and avoided the pitying looks from the surrounding office workers before hobbling back to his classroom. It was lunch period now, but he wasn't at all hungry mostly due to the nausea that had settled heavily in his gut the moment he stepped back through those doors. He walked through the empty halls quickly before going to his locker, switching out his texts, and hobbling toward his fourth period class. He walked into the classroom and almost fell into his regular seat before the teacher even raised his head.
"We're working on logarithms, John." Mr. Dimmock said evenly. "Chapter Seven if you want to have a quick look before the lesson begins."
"Right." John replied. "Thanks."
"Good to have you back, John." Mr. Dimmock said again before glancing back over at his monitor and promptly ignoring John for the next twenty minutes. John had never been more grateful for anything in his entire life.
He kept his head down as students began to file into the room. He knew them all, of course. Most of them had been in the same classes with him since primary school. He had played football with them, gone to see films with them, went to camp with them, but now? He could feel the whispered gossip skittering across his skin like tiny, poisonous spiders. He hunched down even farther and tried to avoid the open desk three rows up and five to the right. He felt someone clap his hand lightly on his shoulder and glanced over to see Greg Lestrade slide into the seat beside him.
"Alright?" Lestrade asked with a grin.
"Alright." John answered back. "You?"
"Manchester United was bloody awful this weekend." Lestrade said with a grimace.
At that second, Mr. Dimmock began the lesson and John immersed himself in the information.
0000000000000000000000000000
"John," His Mum scolded gently. "I was worried sick."
"Sorry." He said staring down at his scuffed trainers. "I just…needed to get out of there."
"Sweetie," She said. "If you were that uncomfortable, then you should have come straight home. Instead, you wandered around town for hours. What if something had happened?"
He heard the choked up noise his mother made and knew that if he looked at her, she'd have tears in his eyes. Great, he was now making his mother cry. Guilt swallowed him whole as his body deflated and he leaned more heavily against the cane.
"I'm really sorry." He said.
"I know that this is hard, John." She continued. "It's hard on everyone, but you have to be strong. You're the man of the house now."
"I know." He said quietly.
"Do you have homework?" She asked feebly.
"Not much." He answered. "I was going to have a shower first."
"Alright." She said. "Do you need any help with the bandages?"
"No," He said. "I'll be fine."
"I'm going out with the girls later tonight and Harry is out as well." His Mum said. "There are some leftovers in the fridge."
"Okay." He answered. "Have a good time tonight, Mum."
"Thanks, John." She said.
He turned and made his way slowly up the stairs. Grabbing some clean clothes, he went to have a shower and let it wash away the tension that had eased into his muscles over the rest of the school day. He sat on the edge of the tub to take off his jeans and eyed the bandage with distaste. Whenever he looked at the stupid thing, it always seemed bigger than the last time he saw it. All of his other scraps and bruises were almost gone. He still had that bigger cut on the side of his cheek that was red and noticeable, not to mention the bruises from his ribs, but he could forget about those relatively easily. The leg, however, was not so forgiving.
He sighed heavily and reached for the saran wrap in the cupboard. He gingerly wrapped the bandages tightly and clenched his jaw to try to combat the sparks of pain that exploded out from the laceration. He grabbed the painter's tape and deftly wrapped it around the edges of the cling wrap to keep out water. He was sweating and shaking with pain when his task was finally accomplished. He took a few deep breaths before shucking the rest of his clothing and turning on the tap. He washed quickly and sat back down on the toilet to put a new bandage on his thigh.
He discarded the tape and wrap easily and took a deep breath before peeling away the duoderm dressing. His breath hitched as he stared down at the jagged, sutured cut that ran from his inner thigh to a few inches above his knee. The doctor kept calling John lucky. If the shrapnel from the car had hit just a few inches to the right, he would have bled out and died in that wreck with his father. He worked on the wound with shaky hands and fought against the memories trying to steal his attention. He swallowed two more pain pills before placing a new duoderm dressing on his thigh and getting changed into his pajamas bottoms and t-shirt.
He grimaced as he wobbled unsteadily down the stairs and into the living room waiting impatiently for the pain meds to seep into his system and carry away the ache. He curled up on the couch and drifted off to sleep.
000000000000000000000
"John," His dad slurred. "Get in the car."
"Dad," John stared dumbfounded. "Are you drunk?"
"Get in the fucking car," His dad said again.
"Dad…" John said hesitantly.
"John," His dad said raising his voice. "This stupid exte-exta-extracurricular thing was your idea. You should be lucky that I am even out here to pick you up this late. Now get in the fucking car or I am leaving your ass here to walk home."
"I don't think…" John tried one more time.
"NOW!" John's dad bellowed causing John to jump in shock and slide into the passenger seat buckling his seatbelt.
John clung to the dashboard as his father sped through town. His heart jumped into his chest as they careened around corners. They were five block from their house when it happened. His father completely ignored the red light and slammed into the side of another vehicle. John hit his head on the dash and promptly fell into unconsciousness.
000000000000000000000
"Oi!" A voice called breaking into his sleep. "Wake up."
John jerked awake, his eyes flying open to land on Lestrade holding a pizza box.
"Thought you might want to watch the game?" He said with a shrug.
"Making liberal use of the hidden house key, I see." John grumbled but smiled when he smelled the pizza.
"Budge over." Lestrade said as he set the box on the coffee table and turned on the telly. John rose unsteadily and hobbled into the kitchen to get a couple of sodas.
They sat in companionable almost-silence eating pizza and occasionally commenting on the game. During half-time, Lestrade spoke about something other than football for the first time in nearly an hour without taking his eyes off the screen, "It won't last long, John. They'll get over it soon enough."
"What did you hear?" John asked adapting the same 'don't look away from the screen' pose.
"Oliver is just hurting." Lestrade answered. "Sarah meant a lot to him. But he shouldn't have said what he did."
"It's true though." John answered deadpan. "My dad was a fucking drunk."
"How long do you have to use the cane?" Lestrade asked changing the subject.
"It just depends on how well my muscle knits back together." John answered. "It shouldn't be more than a month though."
"Good." Lestrade said. "We need you back on the team. Anderson is literally the worst player in the history of rugby."
"I don't doubt that in the slightest." John said with a grin. "Did you do the Literature reading yet?"
"I don't think Mrs. Turner will ever convince me to appreciate Hemingway, no matter how many sodding books of his we have to choke down." Lestrade growled.
"I'll take that as a no, then." John answered.
"It's just about as useful as Latin." Lestrade said. "So, your sister graduates this spring? What are her plans?"
"What part of 'prefers vagina' do you not understand, you poor sod?" John asks, chucking a pillow at his friend.
Lestrade smacks him with another pillow and they spend the rest of the evening bullshitting until Lestrade's dad comes to collect him with a put-upon sigh. Lestrade is bollocks at remembering that is curfew is in fact 10pm.
"Meet you in the morning to walk to school?" Lestrade asks as his dad ruffles his hair.
"Sounds good." John said. "See you then."
John hobbles upstairs to collapse onto his bed. He doesn't hear his sister or mother come in, but then again, he's been taking sleeping pills to combat the nightmares, so he probably wouldn't wake up to a stampede of elephants through the hallway.
"It's alright, kid." The paramedic says as they work at extracting him from the wreckage.
"Where's my dad?" John asks as panic floods his system. He'd come to as they wrenched the door off the passenger side of the car. He'd looked over and not seen his dad.
"Relax." The man said. "You have to relax. We have to get you to the hospital."
John swiveled once more to look at the driver's seat. The blue and red lights of the emergency vehicles lit up the seat with blood stains.
"Is he alright?" John shrieked.
"I'm sorry." The man said not meeting John's gaze. "I'm so sorry."
John felt his entire body start shivering with adrenaline and shock. "The other driver?"
"She didn't make it either." The man said quietly. "Just stay still. We'll get you out of here, okay?"
John lapsed into silence and felt the first waves of pain crash over him as his adrenaline seeped away. They got him into the ambulance before he passed out. He woke up to see his mother and sister sobbing by his hospital bed.