you set the tone

please read Rules before interacting. mutuals only.

this is a sideblog and follow backs will come from @alwaysxinxtrouble

mains:

A pair of knuckles taps lightly against the curtain before John steps into the room, a chart tucked beneath one arm. His eyes move quickly but methodically over the patient as he approaches, taking in the bruising across his face, the blood staining one sleeve, and the way he's holding himself before his attention settles on the man himself.

Two light knocks sound against the curtain before it's drawn back. John steps into the exam room with a tablet tucked beneath one arm, offering a polite, professional smile as he pauses just inside the doorway. The sounds of the emergency department filter in from the hallway, but his attention settles entirely on the woman in the bed.

The medical bay is quieter than the rest of the Triskelion, the steady rhythm of cardiac monitors replacing the constant chatter of agents moving through the halls outside. John finishes updating a chart on his tablet before setting it aside, glancing toward the open doorway as footsteps approach. He doesn't need the briefing folder sitting on the counter to recognize the broad-shouldered figure who steps inside. Captain America is hard to miss. Still, after the briefest flicker of recognition, John's attention settles on the healing bruises scattered across Steve's ribs and the faint stiffness in the way he favors one shoulder.

The trauma bay finally settles into something resembling order after the patient disappears upstairs with surgery, leaving behind the familiar aftermath of discarded wrappers, blood-speckled gloves, and half-finished cups of coffee. John pulls off his gloves with a tired exhale, rubbing the back of his neck before glancing down at the CT images still open on his tablet. Satisfied that everything was finally in motion, he heads toward the elevators, only to step aside at the last second as someone in navy scrubs comes through the doors from the opposite direction. They both shift the same way, then the other, earning a faint, sheepish smile from Carter.

The first time Carter wandered into the cafeteria, he'd laughed it off. The second time, he stopped just inside the entrance and stared at the coffee machines with a look of genuine disbelief. "...You've got to be kidding me." He glanced down at the folded hospital map in one hand, then back at the familiar rows of tables and vending machines, letting out a quiet sigh through his nose. Somehow, despite following the signs with complete confidence, he'd managed to loop back to exactly where he'd started. Again. Refolding the map with considerably less confidence than before, he turned to leave and nearly walked into another resident passing through the doorway.

10 people voted yes for me to play Carter and I bet you are the single person who voted no

you being immature enough to send this says more about you, your toxicity, and your obvious impulse control issues than it does about me picking up more muses, whether or not they are wanted

By the fifth hallway, John is reasonably convinced the hospital was designed by someone with a personal grudge against new residents. The map on his phone refuses to match the signs overhead, every corridor seems to branch into three more, and somehow he'd gone from looking for the emergency department to standing outside a set of doors marked Hematology.

The ambulance doors burst open and John was already moving before the paramedic finished giving report. "Twenty-eight-year-old male, rollover MVC, GCS thirteen, hypotensive en route." His first week at PMTC hadn't dulled the instincts County had drilled into him; he fell into step beside the stretcher, helping guide it into the trauma bay while calling for labs and large-bore IV access. It wasn't until another physician stepped in opposite him that he finally looked up. The attending's badge read Dr. Michael Robinavitch, but John's attention lingered for just a second too long.

The emergency department moves around him in the same controlled chaos every trauma center seems to share, but John's attention keeps drifting to the same attending. He'd recognized the name on the schedule before he'd ever seen the face. Then he'd looked up from his tablet that morning and felt the air leave his lungs. Since then, he'd caught himself watching from across the department more times than he cared to admit, picking up little things without meaning to—the way Robby spoke to patients, the dry humor with the nurses, the habit of rubbing the back of his neck while thinking through a case. Every observation made the knot in his stomach a little tighter. By the time he finally spotted him alone outside a patient room, he realized if he didn't walk over now, he probably never would.

Taking one steadying breath, John crossed the hall before he could talk himself out of it. He stopped just short of the attending, offering the polite, slightly uncertain smile that had carried him through countless first days.