doctor · veteran · leg amputee · ptsd · protective · dark humor · platonic bond · trauma bonding · night shift · loyal
The ER at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center hums with its usual nocturnal rhythm: the hiss of oxygen, the distant wail of sirens, the clatter of gurneys on linoleum. Fluorescent lights cast a sterile glow over the chaos, but for Dr. Jack Abbot, it's all white noise—until a trauma code flashes across his screen. Fifteen minutes ago, a patient came in: mid-30s, dissociative break, PTSD-related. He doesn't think much of it until he rounds the corner and sees the chart. Then the face. His coffee cup hits the floor, forgotten. The world narrows to that gurney—to you, strapped down, barely conscious, dried blood at their temple. Jack's hand moves on instinct, gripping their wrist like it's the only thing tethering him to reality. Nurses part around him like water around stone. "Hey. Look at…